


Rogue Warning

by Jess_S



Series: Felicitas [13]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Highlander: The Series
Genre: And I'll probably add more tags later, Angst, Crossover, Felicitas-verse - Freeform, Humor, Philosophical Debate & Thoughts, VERY LONG CONVERSATION
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 23:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14175408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_S/pseuds/Jess_S
Summary: With everything else going on, this is the last thing she needed…





	Rogue Warning

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Easter everybody!  
> And no, this is not an April Fools prank. Promise. There’s an actually story here. A pretty long one, actually. I don’t know how my interlude turned into its own story, but it did…  
> Once again I’m sorry this took so long. Hopefully it was worth the wait.  
> Enjoy! :-)

** Rogue Warning **

**by Jess S**

_Felicity's P.O.V_.

 

Felicity paused in the act of pouring her wine as the barely-there static sense of a Pre-Immortal’s presence registered. It took her half a moment to place the familiar feel of her late night visitor, and she frowned when that recognition hit. After everything that’d happened this past week she couldn’t help it, but at least Oliver had agreed that he needed to spend some more time back at his family’s mansion to spend time with his mother and sister.

 

Of course, if he were here this middle of the night visit—something that was starting to seem like a trend—wouldn’t be happening. But that wasn’t really important, and it was better to just get this over with.

 

So she wiped the expression away and let out the soft sigh before she unlocked and opened her front door. And saw who she expected to see: relatively new though their acquaintance was Nyssa al Ghul’s personality was very distinct through the barely-there buzz of her not-yet-active Quickening. She couldn’t make herself smile, even her face felt too tired for that: worn out by both that last frown and everything else like the rest of her. "Nyssa, good evening," she greeted the younger woman with a polite nod.

 

Nyssa nodded back more deeply, all respect as she answered, “Good evening, ‘Ama.”

 

All respect… and anxiety?

 

Felicity studied the Pre-Immortal who called her ‘aunt’ for a moment to be sure. And yes, Nyssa _was_ anxious. It radiated from her form—partially in the ever-so-slight increase in the fervor of that not-yet-awakened Quickening buzzing beneath her skin like static when compared to the thunderstorms inside all Immortals. But mostly it was in her eyes. Her eyes, and in how she was standing there.

 

Her posture was perfect, but still somehow subdued. A little too tight, too stiff—in the way one sought refuge in when expecting a rebuke. Where the untrained cowered in the instinctive hope that their shrunken form would make less of a target, a warrior's spine stiffened, shoulders straightened, and they held their head high. Like Nyssa al Ghul was doing right now.

 

But she wasn’t expecting an attack: the turmoil in her eyes was all emotion. Already under attack from her own mind, as her thoughts cut and burnt more deeply than anything Felicitas could say to her tonight ever could, and seeing all of that made the tired Immortal’s try to smile despite everything else.

 

“I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon. Was he really that easy to track down?" she tried for a reassuring tone and a not impossible hope, though she highly doubted the answer to her inquiry would be positive.

 

Deadshot might not be League of Assassins, but Floyd Lawton was still an internationally infamous killer in his own right. His digital footprint had proven to be nearly nonexistent beyond the little _ARGUS_ had only because of Oliver’s favor from the Bratva. So it didn't seem likely that even other assassins would have an easy time tracking him either. Certainly not so soon, though miracles did sometimes happen… if assassins hunting down another professional killer could be called that. But no matter how well connected and influential Ra’s al Ghul’s organization had become—infamous among those world-wise enough to even know of them—it’d take even them at least some time.

 

What's more, a positive report wouldn't have put that storm of nerves into the young woman's dark eyes, no matter how much better their last meeting could've gone.

 

Nyssa's slow blink, the only sign she gave of her momentary confusion, would've confirmed Felicity's suspicions even if the Pre-Immortal hadn't shaken her head a second later. Slowly, from side to side just once: haste and waste were not something Mazin would've taught any of his students, let alone his daughter. "No, Na al—"

 

"Come in, aibnat’akhi," Felicity cut her off before she could say the full epithet, though it might not do her anymore good with the daughter than it had with the father. Still she waived the girl inside as she took a step back to allow her entry. [my niece]

 

The assassin hesitated for a whole breath before bowing her head in silent thanks and stepping inside. It was a complete change from the proud, determined warrior that could’ve lost her head here only a handful of nights ago. That night her youthful foolhardiness had had her trying to prove a point that didn’t need to be made because she didn’t understand the situation. But what’d changed in the short time since?

 

Felicitas couldn't imagine Mazin yelling at his daughter; wasting breath on volume for its own sake was never in his nature. She was sure the daughter of the Demon's Head had been censured all the same, and Nyssa’s father's opinion clearly did matter to her. Whether it was softly spoken, mostly disappointed silence, or some variation thereof, this subdued version of Nyssa al Ghul had taken it to heart.

 

_Buzz…_

 

The familiar trace of another Quickening—an active one—gave the ancient pause for the breath it took her to recognize it. Not Mazin, but a similar personality and focus…

 

Felicitas blinked as she realized who it was—why would Navid be here now?—but she shoved the curiosity to the edges of her mind as she focused on the nervous warrior that was walking into her kitchen and stopping to hover by her kitchen counter, posture perfect without even a glance at the stools she was standing next to.

 

Nyssa _couldn’t_ be here just to apologize now.

 

Navid’s presence made her completely sure of that. If it were Mazin himself, come to apologize in person for any offense his daughter had given, Felicitas would chide him on his formality—and perhaps take comfort in the fact that he was still the same man she’d always known. But he wasn’t here to apologize, on his child’s behalf or his own: and he wouldn’t waste one of his best warriors on escorting his clearly repentant daughter to make apologies.

 

What’s more, Nyssa al Ghul was young, but she wasn’t a child. She was a grown woman and an honorable warrior: sworn to her father’s service and obviously faithful to her oaths. Mazin would trust her at her word, unless she did something to lose that trust—and if the girl’s ‘test’ hadn’t upset Felicitas enough for her to even directly contact her student about it, it couldn’t have upset Mazin much either.

 

He’d called Felicitas far too forgiving more than once, but he’d been thankful for that forgiveness a few times, too. Mercy hadn’t come naturally to the man who’d titled himself ‘The Head of the Demon,’ but he’d learned its value from her all the same. Eventually.

 

He even remembered it most of the time. More often than not, even…

 

Which only brought her back to wondering why Navid As’ad was hovering out in her backyard…

 

“‘Ama,” Nyssa began before they’d taken even a few steps towards the couch the ancient still couldn’t say she liked all that much, “I must apol—”

 

"You already apologized to me, Nyssa, when you were last here," Felicity interrupted gently, catching and holding her gaze. "And once all the men I was forced to hurt for following your commands have healed, you may consider yourself forgiven without wasting any more words on the matter.”

 

An almost-wince—not quite caught in time—pulled at the Pre-Immortal’s face. It was gone half-a-second after it’d appeared, but Felicitas had still seen it.

 

She considered her next words for a moment, then offered, “Unless you’re here to tell me that the Huntress somehow escaped Nanda Parbat already? Because I really thought your father had higher standards than that, but perhaps your guards weren’t holding back as much as I thought?”

 

She also would have thought that Helena Bertinelli would have at least enough self-preservation to know that leaving the League without permission would only mean that they’d hunt her down. But the Huntress had surprised her before.

 

Nyssa had been shaking her head before the Immortal was halfway through the query, but she respectfully waited till the ancient stopped before she responded, “No. We were not holding back—”

 

“Oh, of course you were,” Felicity interrupted again, tone as mild as she could make it. “We all were, once I was sure that none of you actually wanted to kill me.” She shook her head, “But the Huntress, is she…”

 

“Aleayn Bialeayn is now in training at Nanda Parbat. She agreed to our demands and joined the League very quickly, in fact,” Nyssa reported calmly. “She is being watched, lest she make the mistake of trying to escape, yet so far she appears to be quite dedicated to her training.”

 

All things considered that sounded a little bit ominous, though that could just be because the woman _had_ shot her. That was the sort of thing that any subconscious had to hold at least a little grudge over. It was what she’d asked for though, because she truly couldn’t wish the young woman dead. Maybe she’d feel different if it took her more than a day to recover from being shot in the shoulder, but it didn’t.

 

So Felicity tried another guess, “Well, if you haven’t found Floyd Lawton already you can’t apologize for that either. He’d hardly be living up to his infamy if you’d managed to find him that fast, even with all the League’s resources,” she shook her head again. “If it were half so easy, I wouldn’t have needed to ask.”

 

“No. We have not found Deadshot.” Nyssa acknowledged, giving her a single, slow headshake again. “Not yet.”

 

With that Felicity had run out of educated guesses as to what the girl could be apologizing for—they _had_ only just met. So she simply waited for whatever it was that the young warrior had to say, and after a short moment she did so.

 

“My apology—I’m afraid this isn’t so simple, ‘Ama,” Nyssa clarified, looking no less uncomfortable even with the reassurances.

 

Felicity cocked her head to the side to contemplate the girl for a long moment, but she couldn’t see anything other than the turmoil in the ebony eyes that were staring regretfully back at her. So she shook her head and indicated the stools by the kitchen counter, “All right. Please have a seat.”

 

“No thank you, ‘Ama. I need—”

 

“Sit down, Nyssa,” the ancient told her more firmly this time: an order that the lifelong warrior couldn’t not obey. Then, as her unexpected guest sat down, she leaned across the counter to grab one of the now dry wineglasses that were in the drying rack, setting it right-side up in front of the Pre-Immortal, before she picked up the wine bottle she’d opened to let breathe a little while, and started filling it and topping off her own. Once both glasses were full she handed one to the subdued assassin, pulled her own glass towards herself as she slid into the seat beside her, and raised the glass in salute, “Fa sahetek.”

[ _A/N: Can’t remember where I got this… it probably started with a Google search?_ ]

 

“ _Good luck_ ,” Nyssa returned the Arabic toast almost automatically, also raising her glass for a moment, before taking the requisite sip as the ancient did the same.

 

Then Felicity nodded, arching an eyebrow at her guest as she set her own glass back on the counter. “Now, you have already apologized, and your apology will be accepted in due time. So, why isn’t it that simple?”

 

Nyssa’s mouth twitched like she wanted to bite her lip but had been a warrior with dedicated discipline for too long for—so her subconscious wouldn’t even consider letting it happen. Her hands, too, were only framing the wineglass that’d all but been forced on her after the first polite sip etiquette had demanded she take. "My judgment was in error when last we met, ‘Ama. Gravely in error," she admitted slowly, like she was contemplating each collection of words while she said them. "And I...” she shook her head, a scowl almost breaking free before her self-control continued to win out. “I did not fully appreciate my father’s reasons for the great secrecy surrounding the Honored Ones.”

 

Well, _that_ didn’t sound good at all. But the younger woman clearly had much more to say, so the ancient just sipped her wine and waited for Nyssa to finish.

 

“The League has always held great secrecy surrounding the most Honored Ancients. Yourself, especially. Even, well, within the League itself.” Nyssa’s words were coming faster as she explained, “Most warriors recognize that the will of Ra’s al Ghul is law very quickly. And they know that any disrespect to whom he honors is dishonor to the League itself.”

 

What she wasn’t adding was that by League Law _that_ was treason—and the penalty for it was, of course, death. None of this was new information to Felicitas. Much of the organization her student presided over, after all, she had helped him plan and put into practice. She’d thought that giving the Circle an actual army to call on if needed could only be called wise, but there were times that even she wondered if her kind could be completely trusted with all the training, weapons and knowledge that some of them were given therein…

 

The League of Shadows was a different thing entirely. Yes, it was a deadly arm of the Circle, but it wasn’t an army: it wasn’t supposed to be one. And it certainly wasn’t made up of all assassins, though some—like Mazin and Navid—were members of both leagues.

 

But in the League of Shadows most Immortals whom the Circle might call upon were separate from all the others—save those that were teachers, students or friends. Their training wasn’t regulated and they were armed and armored like a standing army. They were simply as prepared as they themselves chose to be, and served the Circle with the skills they had mastered in their time.

 

Of course, the Circle frequently introduced Immortals to one another for the specific purpose of one learning from the other, and there were places they were sent for such purposes. In recent years, some were even sent to Nanda Parbat. And she _was_ considering calling on the woman in front of her to train her next door neighbor—if only because it would be an educational experience for them both. But still, the two Leagues that she could call upon were still two very different entities—they were meant to be.

 

There were already many warriors pledged to Ra’s al Ghul—Mazin and his League of Assassins—when he first found her. When he first came looking for her teacher and had to settle of her instead if he wanted to be taught. And he had wanted to be taught: to learn and better both himself and the little kingdom he was creating at the time. Her student had known back then that he was only one warlord among many—and that how difficult he was to kill as an Immortal warrior was only so much of a strength. Especially since he was accepting other Immortals into his expanding ranks; wary of what doing so might mean to his own ongoing eternity if he invited he wrong Immortal into his followers and they proved themselves false, but wanted to take the risk anyway because it was worth the rewards. There was an awesome power in organization—most especially in a group of people coming together to realize a common goal…

 

But the more she thought about it, the more it sounded like maybe that risk had been realized yet again. Mazin had made himself intimidating enough to keep most fools from challenging him directly. Some had tried before, many in those first few early decades especially. The direct challenges to Ra’s al Ghul had petered off over the years though, as expected he’d cemented his position and was now too strong for most to think themselves mighty enough to strike down.

 

Yet from all the apologies—was someone coming after her now? She almost snorted at the thought, because if that were the case whoever they were, they were only proving their foolishness further. Antagonizing the League of Assassins _and_ coming after someone who was far more than they could hope to handle if they couldn’t even brave a fight with her student. Though Mazin’s daughter clearly needed to see the proof of that with her own eyes—just as her father had—despite the bedtime stories she’d professed to adore throughout her childhood.

 

Felicitas had taught Mazin much more than he'd expected to learn from her in combat, and she had of course learned a few things from him as well, as was only natural in any proper exchange of skills. But the most fundamental lesson she always drove home: teaching him to _think_ —as she expected of all her students—was always what would help him win over almost any headhunter. Just as it’d always won her victories for her. Intelligence, honor and loyalty were the principles by which she'd always defined her own life, no matter how many secrets she might have to keep, and she tried to teach her students to do the same.

 

Their stubborn minds had clashed more than once, but they were always able to find middle ground—or at least determine which one of them was right. It was usually Felicitas: usually, but not always. And the leader of the League of Assassins had proven to the most industrious of her students by far. At least in so far geo-national politics and the like went; though Naevia was competing with him on that stage these days.

 

Felicitas trusted them both, wary though she had to be of any of her students one day turning on her because of a Dark Quickening. It was a hard thing: recognizing that a friend might become your foe someday from something they couldn’t necessarily control. And an even harder thing to recognize that such a thing could happen to yourself: but it _could_ …

 

Mazin was the one whom she had to worry about the most, his League dealt with violence on the level of The Game far more regularly than most of her students who fought from the shadows. Her worries about one day having to raise her sword against her student weren’t unfounded there. She’d warned him, and he’d seemed to take her warnings to heart: hopefully he hadn’t forgotten though.

 

Taking on too much darkness too quickly—too many evil heads and the Quickenings that came with them, was a kind of death all its own for an Immortal. It inevitably led to the corruption of your mind: what those who knew of it called ‘The Dark Quickening.’ Something of a misnomer, of course, since each Quickening was as unique as the Immortal it came from and there really wasn’t one singular evil out there to overcome. That simplicity was an important lesson in its own right: in some ways as simple as ‘don’t bite off more than you can chew,’ but not in others. Because your mouth was only so big, and chewing was a skill you learned as your teeth came in. But how did one judge just how much their mind could swallow?

 

All beheadings brought more than power with them, but maybe it _was_ that power that corrupted. On its own—especially without anything to moderate it—power _did_ corrupt, so adding the very real danger that lurked in every evil Quickening taken was always a great risk. But thus far it was one Felicitas had handled and she hoped her student could continue to do so as well.

 

"Even I..." Nyssa continued hesitantly, drawing the Immortal’s attention back to her even while she paused to consider her words again as she looked down at her hands.

 

It made Felicity notice that the assassin’s hands had moved. Nyssa hadn’t allowed them twitch, and she wouldn’t, but she had folded them around the stem of her glass, as if to keep them from fidgeting due to the nerves she was doing a surprisingly poor job of hiding. The sort of gesture the ancient would've expected from a much younger woman of her station, considering her warriors' upbringing. _Especially_ considering the man she called her father…

 

After another moment’s thought, the Demon’s Heir kept going, carefully. " _Even I_ was not permitted to know specifics about any of the Honored Ones, even you, until I came of age and proved myself as a warrior.” She shook her head. “I was told many stories, and like all the other children: I delighted in them. But we knew no more specifics than anyone else. Pertinent and present details, my father always said, were for adults to worry about, not children. Now I know that that was to protect me,” Nyssa nodded again even while she went on. “Knowledge I did not have could not be forced from me—and it being known that I did not know kept me safe as a child. At least until I could defend myself against any challengers."

 

No one would ever consider trying to ransom Ra's al Ghul. Even with the life of the child he'd claimed as his own—this daughter that really looked like she _could_ be his flesh and blood—would not win anyone anything other than a swift death if they were very, _very_ lucky.

 

Felicitas said nothing about that either, though, as she took another sip of wine and watched while the young woman kept going. It wasn’t just wisdom or patience, but simply the fact that she was _tired_ , so her mind wasn’t eager to race ahead like it often did automatically. She didn’t feel any desperate need to, either, since it seemed the girl was here for a confession more than anything else...

 

Though, again, the presence of the warrior outside was a nagging oddity that had to be resolved soon. _That_ man had been Mazin’s right-hand for centuries now. He was among the few Immortals who’d served Ra’s al Ghul even before Mazin had sought her teacher out and ultimately become her student instead. That he was shadowing Nyssa now was very odd, for such a task was beneath him in too many ways to count. Though the alternative—that he was stalking Felicitas herself—was completely unthinkable for both Mazin and his first liegeman. But Nyssa undoubtedly knew he was there, too, so that explanation _should_ be forthcoming soon enough…

 

“When you called Nanda Parbat, Ra’s al Ghul was not available. The report came to me instead, and I came myself at once,” Nyssa kept going, the slightly guilty look that crossed her face probably due to the realization that something in her response was a piece of the professed unforgiveable mistake she was explaining now. Though everything she’d just said had already been explained before, and it still wasn’t what she could possibly be so sorry for…

 

Felicity still didn’t feel like making the mental leaps, lunges and cartwheels it’d take to figure this all out on her own though. Not when it was all going to be explained to her anyway. So she just kept sipping her wine while she waited: watching and listening all the while.

 

“With me I brought my full honor guard,” Nyssa continued. “To be prepared in the event that they might be needed.”

 

"It's always better to be prepared than not," Felicity replied mildly, aiming more for calm than encouraging. Her newfound niece would get to the point eventually, so she took another small sip of her wine instead of saying more. Though she did have to wince just a little at the bitter taste that told her the wine still needed to breathe a _lot_ more no matter how much sooner she was starting to think she might actually need it to take the edge off whatever shocking news was coming. Her tongue hadn’t really registered it earlier, but the tannins were _very_ pronounced in this bottle.

 

"Yes...” Nyssa acknowledged, swallowed, then confessed, “Yet in so doing, I erred. For I greatly underestimated my father's reasons for secrecy around the Honored Ones."

 

She’d already said something to that affect, but the repetition of it after all the other words made the realization finally fall into place, like pieces dropping together on a puzzle board to create the full picture. A picture that she had already guessed at, of course, but it was crisp photo held in front of her now…

 

Felicity's eyes dropped closed for a moment, too, as that picture came together all on its own: because it wasn’t a pretty one. "And the greed that drives The Game?" she guessed, forcing herself to look at the Demon's daughter again as she finished: just in time to catch her unhappy nod, which looked more like she was bowing her head in shame now.

 

Well, at least this made some sense of why Navid As’ad—or Al Owal, as he was known among the League of Assassins—was playing guard outside her house now. Along with, undoubtedly, at least the majority of that same Honor Guard that’d been here before: save those that’d been injured when that’d invaded her house and destroyed her couch during their liege-lady’s well-meaning but misguided ‘test.’

 

Which was all _just great_ , because even though Oliver and Digg might— _might_ —not notice them, Nick would _definitely_ sense the other Immortal he didn’t know patrolling their neighborhood. _Joy_.

 

Never mind the additional headache—the nightmarish migraine—that was embodied in whoever it was that wanted her head now…

 

“It is a lesson I regret learning at your expense, ‘Ama. Most dearly,” the Pre-Immortal said with remorse coating every word. "I was wrong—a fool—to trust that the members of my honor guard would keep knowledge of your true identity to themselves." Nyssa swallowed like her tongue was trying to take the words—or at least the truth behind them—back. “We believe that the only information they wrongly shared was that my father’s own teacher now lives in this city, but—”

 

“But that’s enough,” Felicity sighed, somehow even more tired than she was before.

 

Of course it was enough. While Mazin might yet be too intimidating a foe for even the most driven of headhunters to challenge on his own, the temptation of a teacher—older and maybe more powerful—was a draw that many couldn’t ignore. Especially if they believed that the League’s laws regarding the protection of ancient Immortals was a reinforcement of all those who’d lost their edge voluntarily—by giving up the sword and joining holy orders, or something along those lines. Whoever this headhunter was may hesitate when he—or she, perhaps—realized that Felicitas wasn’t a nun, but the simple fact was that she wasn’t as naturally intimidating as the man who’d renamed himself ‘The Head of the Demon’ and sparred against multiple opponents on a near daily basis.

 

That Felicitas had, at one point, gone through similarly regular and brutal training wasn’t something they’d imagine. That that same man they feared to challenge without the edge of a more powerful Quickening stolen from an ancient Immortal had never come even close to winning a sparring match with her wasn’t something they’d ever even dream. So they’d come for her, cocksure and confident as every headhunter before them—but Felicitas couldn’t even consider letting them walk away from that fight. Not with their training and treachery. Such a monster had to be put down, like a rabid animal, before they could do untold damage…

 

“Ra's al Ghul was most displeased to discover that an Immortal within our ranks should not have been trusted at all.” Nyssa told her then.

 

Displeased. Yes, she was sure he was displeased. Displeased, but not entirely surprised either. She’d warned him, after all, and Methos had, too—multiple times—that something like this was bound to happen. And that'd been well before any of the previous attempts had come to pass.

 

Respect for Ra's al Ghul had grown a great deal among his followers since the time of the League's infancy. But more than one Immortal had made the mistake of challenging the organization's leader once they thought he couldn't—or wouldn't—teach them anything more. Each one had paid for that mistake with their head. So Mazin couldn't claim surprise now, anymore than he could all the times it'd happened before, because before even that he'd been warned.

 

But for his daughter this had to be a very unpleasant shock. Nyssa's father hadn't been challenged within her lifetime. As far as Felicitas knew, it'd been over a century and a half since his last real duel: or at least since the last one worth mentioning. She wasn't sure he counted duels with outsiders: even if they were other Immortals. Most outsiders probably couldn't hope to get anywhere near the leader of the League of Assassins anyway, but even if they were stupid enough to try _and_ they managed to make it to him and issue the challenge, it wouldn’t be long at all before they realized that the mistake would cost them their life.

 

When Felicity finally looked at the Pre-Immortal who called her 'aunt,' the remorse and worry in the girl's beautiful dark eyes made a reassuring smile form on her lip automatically as she said, "Do not worry, child. I've faced many challengers before. More than I can count—for I’ve never wanted to. I haven’t met one worth worrying about in a very, very long time. And you’ve already seen for yourself: my skills haven’t waned.”

 

“I have, ‘Ama,” Nyssa nodded, swallowing ever so slightly as if in memory of the blade at her throat—or shame at creating the need for it to be there in the first place. Then she went on, “Yet Ra’s al Ghul would ask—and I would ask—that you accept our protection all the same.”

 

“He would, would he?” Felicity returned with a raised eyebrow, more curious at her student's tactics in sending his daughter here as messenger than the request the girl herself was sent to deliver. Her real remorse and sincere apologies all augment by her worry for what was to come: all of that together made arguing with her feel almost cruel. She almost smiled at just how well her especially deadly student knew her, but kept her face fixed in only bemused consideration as the young woman went on.

 

“Yes,” Nyssa nodded again, this time that deeper nod that looked like a bow again, managing it gracefully even though sitting down would’ve make that almost impossible for anyone who wasn’t as athletic. “As would I, ‘Ama,” she insisted. “This mess is of our—of _my_ making. It is _my duty_ to fix it.”

 

Her student—her somewhat estranged and hopefully not darkening brother—knew her very well. Felicity almost smiled, but she kept her face fixed in bemused consideration between more sips of her wine as the young warrior went on.

 

"Ra's al Ghul also asked that I remind you, that Aleayn Bialeayn—the one called the Huntress, here—was only honored with acceptance into the League at your request. By rights, and League law, she should be long dead."

 

Both of Felicity's eyebrows shot up at that and she didn’t even try to hide her surprise as she asked, "Are you actually implying that the blood of an accepted League initiate will be on my hands if I refuse the League's protection now? After her training has already begun?" she asked it outright because she knew it couldn’t be true.

 

Not if Mazin remembered any of her lessons about leadership at all. It’d be possible confirmation of him losing his mind to a too Dark Quickening, of course, but that was a confirmation she did _not_ want. So she had to ask.

 

"Of course not, 'Ama," Nyssa shook her head at once. "Father only meant that if family counted favors, the next one owed would be yours."

 

"Yes, I suppose it would be," the ancient allowed calmly, not letting her relief show even as she did let herself relax again as she took another sip of wine while she considered it.

 

Mazin's request wasn't unreasonable. All things considered. In her long past, Felicitas had accepted guards before—sometimes very reluctantly, but she’d still accepted them—because it was necessary. And there were plenty of ways this situation could play out where some highly lethal shadows could prove more than a little helpful.

 

If this League-trained Immortal attacked her in public, or when she was with anyone who knew her only as Felicity Smoak, it’d be a problem. If it happened when she was with Oliver and Digg, they’d try to protect her, of course, but if it looked like they were outmatched she’d have to step in. And if Mazin was worried enough to send Navid along with his daughter, it was very likely that this traitor to the League had trained at Nanda Parbat for longer than both her boyfriend and his pseudo-bodyguard had been alive.

 

If it came to her needing to expose the true extent of her combat abilities by necessity—well, she’d do whatever she had to do. But it’d still definitely mean far faster explanations than either Felicity or Oliver had been comfortable with so far. Some explanations—or some white lies and omissions—were much easier to stomach than others. Both at the time and when the whole truth finally came out…

 

Nyssa was watching her patiently as Felicitas thought it through, only that glimmer of concern still showing in her eyes, which brightened with her relieved smile when the ancient finally nodded.

 

"Very well,” Felicity allowed. “I suppose it can't be helped."

 

"Thank you, ‘Ama," the Demon's Heir answered sincerely, not even trying to hide her relief, “Thank you.”

 

"It will, of course, be on my terms," Felicity quickly clarified.

 

“Of course,” Nyssa was almost as quick to agree: clearly ready for this stipulation. But of course she would be.

 

Felicitas ignored that for a moment as she thought through what this would have to change about her life as Felicity Smoak. "You intend to stay yourself, Nyssa?" she clarified, just to be sure.

 

“I do, ‘Ama,” the Pre-Immortal confirmed, immediately going on to add, “My personal guards are here, as well. As is—”

 

“Navid’s here, yes, I know,” Felicity nodded, smiling slightly when the girl blinked. “We can sense each other, remember. Sometimes it’s a nuisance, but it can be handy, too.”

 

Nyssa’s nod was shallower this time, not deep enough to hide her slight swallow before she asked, “Would you like to speak to Al-Owal, ‘Ama?”

 

Not really, Felicitas thought, but didn’t say. Her fellow Immortal would be far harder to manipulate than this almost eager-to-please Pre-Immortal that’d been raised hearing stories about her. Though whether those stories actually resembled her history—and if she resembled the heroine in them—she wasn’t even going to begin guessing at…

 

Navid had undoubtedly had a hand in Nyssa al Ghul’s training though, so whether or not she’d keep listening to the ancient if her instructor started to argue at all was less certain. Not that the man who’d long been one of Mazin’s most loyal vassals was likely to argue with Felicitas outright. As Nyssa had said, her father’s teacher _was_ one of the most honored of the ‘Honored Ones’ and per League Law—and the will of Ra’s al Ghul—that meant she was owed a certain level of deference fromall of those that’d pledged their service to her deadliest pupil. So the man wouldn’t argue, he’d just silently disapprove, refusing to agree, until she came around to his way of thinking or beat him in a sparring match. Again. It was a sort of tradition for them, actually…

 

But, then again, if Navid was here to step in between the as-yet mysterious League traitor and Felicitas and Nyssa both, he should be here now. And he’d have his own input to add later on whether she wanted to hear it or not, anyway. So she was better of arguing with him now.

 

“Alright,” the ancient sighed. “We might as well call him in—at least to make him realize he can’t follow me around armed and armored all the time. I’m going to have a hard enough time explaining the two of you as it is…” she shook her head.

 

“Yes, ‘Ama,” Nyssa agreed immediately. Then she started to raise her hand to her lips, but Felicity stopped her.

 

“No. No bird whistles, please. There’s not nearly enough light out there to justify any of them singing right now.” Felicity told her firmly. “The doors are locked anyway—you’ll have to let him in.” She added, indicating the backdoor because that was the side of the house he was on.

 

It was a bit pushy, true, but better that then listening to them start communicating via the different bird-whistles that made up the League’s complex secret language. Because she was far too tired to try following it right now—she may have given her student the idea by talking about some of her time among the Amazons, but it’d led only to headaches for her. Because much of the secret _whistling_ codes his assassins now used were so very similar in sound to the same song codes that all Amazons knew—but those same sounds all meant completely different things, save for a few inexplicable but convenient exceptions. She could figure it out, of course, she had more than enough experience and skill with languages for that, but she didn’t feel like trying tonight.

 

Nyssa, not surprisingly, rose to go to the door without complaint regardless. Whistling only a quick summons once she’d opened it, and waiting till the Immortal warrior she was calling in obeyed while Felicity was grabbing another wineglass off of the drying rack and pouring some wine into it.

 

_Buzz…_

 

Navid spotted Felicitas as soon as he was in the doorway, which meant that the irritating warning from their clashing Quickenings was, for now, pacified. He bowed to her even as Nyssa closed and relocked the door behind him. “Masaa el kheer. ‘Innah lasharaf ‘ann ‘altaqi bikum marrat ‘ukhraa, Almalikat Alqadima,” he greeted her, even as rose from that bow only to go down on one knee, both his hands on his sword hilt, but only to indicate the reverent fealty his master had always said she was her due as his teacher. That such demonstrations harkened back to the days when she’d led nations from a throne that’d crumbled long ago was something they’d never discussed.

[Good evening. It is an honor to meet you again, Ancient Queen.]

 

“Navid, Marhaban,” Felicitas welcomed him in Arabic, but then went on in English. “It’s nice to see you again, too.” She told him, before pushing the third glass of wine she’d just poured towards him on the counter. “Now get up, and have a drink.”

[Welcome]

 

The other Immortal obeyed right away, coming over to accept the slightly more than half-full wineglass and taking that first requisite sip that etiquette demanded, before he set it back on the counter, just as Nyssa had done. “Shokran,” he said.

[Thank you]

 

Felicity only nodded, then she looked back at Nyssa again. Because the other Immortal had undoubtedly been one of the girl’s frequent tutors, but as the daughter and acknowledged heir of Ra’s al Ghul, she outranked him in her father’s little kingdom in the shadows. “If you plan to protect me, you’ll have to be with me—at least most of the time. So Nyssa, you will be visiting as my cousin,” the ancient told her, going on without waiting for a response because neither one would interrupt her anyway. Not now. “All of the guards are yours. Bodyguards hired by your father, because you are his only child and he’s very protective. I don’t care how many there are with us, as long as they’re not too conspicuous, so try to be reasonable, please. Agreed?”

 

Navid immediately nodded, undoubtedly pleased that she wasn’t arguing the numbers at all. But also still waiting for whatever restrictions she’d want that he wouldn’t like.

 

Nyssa, however, looked like she was fighting a frown. “I have had no need of my father in any cover story, ‘Ama. I am not a child.”

 

That her complaint was one every child had made at one time or another she clearly realized as she finished saying it, so it wasn’t worth arguing age comparisons or the like. Then again, it never really was.

 

“You’re not,” Felicity allowed, going on evenly. “Sometimes the easiest answer is the best one, Nyssa. It’s an explanation that works. My current identity—as Felicity Smoak—doesn’t supposedly come from money, but that doesn’t mean I can’t say my mother’s sister married well once upon a time. That your mother is no long with us is a simple answer that no one will then want to question further.”

 

Well, Oliver might, but he’d ask when they were alone. Hopefully after this was resolved—sooner rather than later… and she could always hold out hope that he might not ask about her distant cousins once this was all over and they’d left Starling City again.

 

Maybe…

 

Well, probably not. But she could hope.

 

“That does make sense,” Nyssa nodded more slowly, though the frown she was wearing now had only gotten deeper at the mention of the mother she’d never known.

 

 

She’d surrendered the argument, though, so Felicitas went on. “When anyone asks, we can both say that we don’t really know what your father does for a living, only that it’s something in the Middle East and he can’t talk about it. A consultant, perhaps, for several governments? Something like that…” she trailed off, taking a sip of wine before continuing. “You and I are actually second cousins, once removed or something like that, because your mother was my mother’s cousin.  Who keeps track of that sort of thing these days?” she asked the question rhetorically, because it was the sort of thing they should say.

 

It was how one built a convincing background that they’d have to share with someone like this, and though she was on the spot it was something she’d done many times before.

 

Mazin’s daughter was nodding as she easily followed along, undoubtedly at least somewhat used to making up such stories as she needed to herself, because Mazin would’ve made sure of that.

 

And Navid, of course, had plenty of experience himself.

 

“We’ll keep to a restricted schedule, so you won’t need any more than four men at a time,” Felicity told them, watching Navid then, because he was more likely to object than the much younger woman was. “Any other guards with you must stay out of sight unless absolutely necessary.”

 

Mazin’s right-hand was still enjoying the one glass of wine he’d let her give him tonight. Not seeming to mind her restrictions on the number of visible guards at all. But then again, he preferred to work from the shadows anyway, so he likely wouldn’t argue all that much as long as she didn’t try to control too many of those shadows…

 

“If the guards are to remain with me, I must be by your side at all times,” Nyssa pointed out reasonably.

 

Felicity nodded. “You will be, when it works,” she allowed, then quickly clarified: “It doesn’t at _Verdant_. And you can’t come to every meeting with me at _Queen Consolidated_ without it seeming strange.”

 

She was certain that the League already knew about the Arrow’s not-so-well-hidden base of operations. (It was hardly hidden at all if you knew how to look for such things and had enough of the particulars to piece them all together.) But any of them trying to follow her in there would make more of a mess then she could stomach this week, especially since the odds of the one warrior they were worried about trying to break into the Arrow Lair to attack her were too low to really consider. And the guards that weren’t supposed to be seen would just have to work very hard to avoid her archer’s sharp eyes—and Digg’s, too.

 

Nyssa and Navid were both clearly thinking that over carefully, so she kept going without waiting for them to respond. “Surround the _Q.C. Towers_ if you must, and the people you’ve already placed there will undoubtedly be helpful if needed. You can come with me to _Verdant_ , of course, but I will leave you inside the club with your men when I need to work there. The basement has only two entrances, our unseen shadows may watch the alley entrance, so long as they aren’t caught.”

 

Nyssa glanced at Al-Owal, and when she saw he was taking another sip of wine instead of actively considering this a problem, she slowly nodded. “That may be acceptable,” she agreed: her reluctance so clear that it was actually a little endearing.

 

But Felicity nodded liked she hadn’t noticed anything other than the agreement, going on firmly. “You can’t be expected to stay by yourself in the nightclub for too long without asking too many questions about my side-job there, so Oliver and Diggle will have to let me go earlier than most nights. But when I need to stay longer you can’t bother us, understand?”

 

“Of course, ‘Ama.” Nyssa nodded again: not quite the almost-bow of earlier, but the words were easier for her this time. Though that could be because she immediately qualified, “However we must remain apprised of your moments at all times."

 

“I’ll do my best,” Felicity assured them with a shrug, taking another sip of wine herself before she asked, “You have modern mobile phones, right?”

 

It was worth checking: even though some of her own super-secure communications’ equipment was provided by Mazin’s League. Nyssa _had_ just summoned her father’s lieutenant in here with what’d sounded like a mimicry of the disjointed, flute-like whistles that orioles made—that they weren’t anywhere near Starling City and wouldn’t be till early summer wasn’t here nor there. And Navid was grimacing in clear distaste that didn’t surprise her at all either. It was precisely why she’d asked the question. As far as she knew the only direct number she had for the League was the communication hub at Nanda Parbat she called into when she wanted to arrange a meeting—what’d started much of this whole mess-in-the-making in the first place.

 

Thankfully though, the Pre-Immortal nodded almost immediately. “State of the art, yes,” Nyssa confirmed. “Much as my father does not care for many modern advances, some tools are simply too convenient not to utilize.”

 

Felicity nodded again, then frowned as another problem occurred to her. “Wait, do you have any men that Malcolm Merlyn _won’t_ recognize?”

 

That had both assassins frowning, too.

 

“Only a few here at present,” Nyssa answered, then shook her head. “But he will know me, ‘Ama. And Al-Owal. We were his primary teachers, till my father declared him fit to train under his own direction.”

 

Felicitas almost blinked again at that last part.

 

Though the skill Tommy's father possessed had been all too apparent that night he'd handled two Triad hitmen as calmly as an Olympic gymnast might make a cartwheel, that wasn't enough of a display to tell her he was directly trained by her own student. Not when the League held the Demon's Head up so high in order to assure his authority endured. It’d been brutally efficient and exactly what’d needed to be done—exactly how Mazin saw all his followers trained—but it hadn’t told her _this_. Malcolm Merlyn had not only earned his release from service, he’d somehow won the honor of training directly under Ra’s al Ghul—and with the Demon’s Heir before that?

 

It took Felicitas only a moment, however, to process how it could have happened in the window of time when the world hadn’t known where Tommy’s father was. Mazin _would_ be sympathetic to another man whose wife had been murdered. Rebecca Merlyn had been shot outside her clinic in the Glades, but Sora had been killed right in front of her husband when he was dying his First Death. Mazin hadn’t been able to protect his wife; and waking to find her warm but no longer breathing, had a lot to do with what he later became. Malcolm Merlyn hadn’t been there for his wife either, and so Ra’s al Ghul would have welcomed him if he’d found Nanda Parbat while seeking absolution from his grief and guilt.

 

For Mazin to invite Malcolm Merlyn to personally train with him though: that spoke of not sympathy, but his innate skill…

 

And it certainly explained how Oliver had fared so badly against the much more experienced—and simply much more trained—fighter. That he’d even survived the encounter was a testament to Oliver’s own ability. The difference in training was not unlike a school sport star trying to take on an athlete who'd medaled at the Olympics in the same sport. Oliver was not unskilled, far from it: but his raw talent and determination could only carry him so far. His experience, after all, only went back to that night his father's boat sank. So his hodgepodge of skills and sheer will were only worth so much against someone with the rigors of real, disciplined and truly brutal training as their start.

 

And Malcolm Merlyn had only been absent from the public eye for a few years before he came back to Starling City. For Ra's al Ghul to train him in such a short amount of time before agreeing to send him home, the man must've made quite an impression on him. Beyond both any sympathy and skill. And he had to have some real natural talent to begin with—that or a massive amount of drive.

 

Oliver did, in part, too. The determination he certainly had. He had all the instincts, too, and once taught his magnificent muscles did remember the moves. But once those known moves failed him, or if the impressive willpower that kept him going faltered… he didn’t have as much experience, discipline or training to fall back on as some opponents might.

 

Like, for instance, Malcolm Merlyn: highly-trained member of the League of Assassins. Released from service or not, such training would hold true as long as he didn’t let his edges dull. And he’d been as sharp as any blade while dealing with the Triad—and Oliver…

 

When faced with a clearly superior foe, Oliver had done the right thing. He'd run. Eventually. That he'd even been able to escape was owed all to his strength of will, according to his hospital records and how much he and Diggle didn't like to talk about the so-called ‘other archer’ and the Christmas Hostage Crisis.

 

‘The other archer.’ Felicity almost scoffed at the though—she had before. At the idea that the bow and arrow was really considered so behind the times that the _S.C.P.D’s_ _Vigilante_ _Taskforce_ could call one of the two men they were hunting ‘the _other_ archer.’ Heaven help them if anything ever led to Felicity giving the League her leave to openly operate in her home… which _wasn’t_ what she was doing now. Those weren't really thoughts for right now, though they lead her thoughts back to what had to be said...

 

“Merlyn recognizing you if we meet him together really can’t be helped, I guess,” Felicity finally allowed, and added, “It might even be useful, going forward. But anyone in League armor will have to disguise it well here in Starling.”

 

Nyssa started to frown, but Navid spoke up before she could say anything.

 

“Lest we risk being associated with the ‘Dark Archer,’ as the local police have named Al Sa-Her,” the other Immortal recognized with a frown that was also dominating Nyssa’s face by the time he finished.

 

“One word from my father should be more than enough to call Al Sa-Her into line, ‘Ama,” the younger woman told her, not quite pleadingly. Not quite, but it was a near thing.

 

Felicity was shaking her head before the Demon’s daughter had finished. “We don’t yet know enough for Ra’s al Ghul to risk the loss of face he could suffer for calling back a released vassal without good cause.”

 

“That he has troubled you at all, and continues to do so, is more than cause enough,” the Pre-Immortal insisted, still frowning severely.

 

Navid didn’t look any happier, but he’d lived through the times when Mazin’s authority was not absolute and did not want to return to the League as it’d been then, so he was more inclined to heed her warning without questions. He wasn’t hiding his frown at all though.

 

"For you, and even your father, maybe. But not the organization he has built. Not the _nation_ , he has built.” Felicity shook her head firmly. “A leader _must_ be expected to be above—if not all, at least _most_ —personal concerns. Selfishness and honor have never gone hand in hand. And selfishness and leadership _can't_ , not without the risk of inspiring an easily justifiable rebellion."

 

Nyssa's frown deepened. "You think more of our number might defect to HIVE if Ra's al Ghul summoned Al Sa-Her back to Nanda Parbat?" she shook her head even more fiercely than before. "Present concerns may seem to the contrary, 'Ama, but Ra's al Ghul's will is law within the League."

 

"So was Caesar's in Rome. And Maurice's; in Constantinople," Felicitas countered smoothly. "Until it wasn't. Iyoas the First; in Ethopia. James the Second; in England and Scotland. Abdul Hamid the Second; in the Ottoman Empire. Bonaparte and Hitler both ruled over much of Europe for a time. Until that time, _their time_ , came to its end. And I could go on, listing many more leaders of import if needed." She shook her head, “Some of them were horrible tyrants the deserved their fate, some were not, and some were even worse than that. But in the end they still fell.”

 

“It’s not the same thing, ‘Ama,” Nyssa shook her head slowly, but her frown had deepened enough to furrow her brow. “My father is no mere mortal.”

 

“Not the same scale, perhaps, but you can’t have it one way and not the other. Nanda Parbat is a kingdom in the shadows, yet that secrecy can’t shield you from yourselves.” Felicity held the younger woman's serious gaze. "Holding onto power has never been easy for anyone, and your father is not the first to attempt authority over Immortals—he's just the most direct in a very long time."

 

Nyssa blinked, "Not the—"

 

"Now's not the time for history lessons though," Felicity sighed, turning to gesture down the hall. "It’s late, and we’re all tired. The guest room is to the left, facing the front. I'll leave my door open if it makes you feel better."

 

Navid shook his head. “We will stand guard outside, Alaqadim,” he told her, before he bowed. [Ancient One]

 

“Don’t kill my neighbor, please,” Felicity sighed. “And try not to get spotted by my boyfriend?”

 

“Of course, Alqadima,” he agreed with another bow. The warrior was one of the very few Immortals she’d known who’d made it to the later years of a natural mortal life before he suffered his First Death, yet he always bowed to her as if she was still the reigning queen of a great empire. [Ancient One]

 

Even as she closed and locked the back door after her teacher, the Daughter of the Demon was shaking her head. “I should sleep nearer to you, ‘Ama. I can sleep on the floor—"

 

"You can, but you won't. I won't allow it. You are my guest, and you will be sleeping in my guest room.”

 

“But ‘Ama—”

 

“If this Immortal wants my head, he will have to come get it himself. Headhunters can't send anyone, and I'll sense his approach before he’s even started breaking in.” Felicity cocked her head to the side. "Who is he, anyway? Or she, I suppose," she clarified with a shrug, "I've never met a female headhunter though. We women tend to need a real reason to kill someone, I think. But I have heard of a few exceptions, and can name one who is far worse than any headhunter.”

 

“Who—”

 

“But that’s a discussion for another time,” Felicity stopped her, before asking again, “This League warrior. What is his name?”

 

This time Nyssa answered promptly, “He is called Al-Tamsah.”

 

“The Crocoile?” Felicity blinked, but then she chuckled. “That’s the title the League gave him, Nyssa. What’s his real name?”

 

“When one joins—”

 

“They’re supposed to forget about their former life if they’re to fully commit, yada-yada-yada.” Felicity shook her head. “Our pasts are what made us who we are, and even we cannot change that. So who was he before he joined the League?”

 

The younger woman frowned again for a moment, then shook her head. “I do not know. Al-Tamsah joined the League long before my time. Nearly a hundred-fifty years ago, I believe. But more than that I do not know.”

 

“That’s your first major mistake then, Nyssa,” Felicity stopped her gently this time, stepping back into the role of the elder teacher with the ease of long practice. “You need to know everything you can about your enemy. Always. If you know them, you can predict their actions with far better accuracy than anyone could ever hope to predict the moves of a stranger.”

 

“He will use League tactics,” Nyssa pointed out, not quite sounding defensive. “We know that.”

 

“No, you don’t. You only know he knows League tactics and that he might use them,” Felicity told her firmly. “You don’t know enough about him to say for sure. And you certainly don’t know enough about him to predict what he’ll do to counter you.” She smiled grimly when the young warrior blinked at her. “If he’s determined to kill me, he’s not going to just give up because Navid—and you—are here. Not if he believes taking my head will give him enough power to then challenge your father directly.” She shrugged. “That’s usually what headhunter’s seem to think, anyway. And we know that he’s come this far, don’t we?” she paused then, before asking her, “How do you know he’s after me?”

 

She had a hard time imagining anyone being bold or brainless enough to boast of any plan to betray Ra’s al Ghul before he’d done so. Yet Nyssa had said she’d come straight back from Nanda Parbat, which was the only place any information about their leader’s teacher could have so quickly spread: when Nyssa and her honor guard had returned under such strange circumstances with even stranger stories to share. Yet how had this ‘Crocodile’ learned of her and yet escaped Mazin’s kingdom in the desert mountains even while his treachery was revealed?

 

Nyssa winced, “Another Immortal among us did not like the questions he heard asking one of the wounded. Al-Hurba confronted the traitor, but unfortunately lost to him. The aftermath—the Quickening—drew our attention, but we arrived too late to stop his escape. None thought to stop one of our own.”

 

Felicity winced, too, sorry for the warrior who’d indirectly tried to protect her and lost his or her head for it. Another eternity ended far too soon. “And the wounded man, one of your guards?” she asked, not sure she wanted the answer. “He told you what happened?”

 

“Al-Karikudn told us what he could, yes,”

 

“He couldn’t tell you anything else?”

 

“No, ‘Ama,” Nyssa hesitated, then admitted, “Al-Tamsah did not spare him. He was dying as my father and I arrived. He used the last of his strength to warn us.”

 

“May both of them rest in peace, then,” Felicity murmured sadly, her eyes dropping shut in a moment of grief for two men she hadn’t known but had to respect because they had tried to protect her.

 

It so often seemed to come to that. She know it wasn’t the truth, just a painful perspective that had to seize hold of her heart from time to time and squeeze it impossibly tight. But she dearly wished it was something that fate would mercifully let her avoid much more often. She’d so much prefer to be the one under attack herself—fighting back and yes, perhaps dying. But better that than all the lives lost just because they believed protecting _her_ was that important. Exactly how many people had died for her wasn’t a number she could let herself tally, though, Methos had made her promise that she wouldn’t long ago—and she knew he was right to do so. Still, that didn’t make times like this any less hard.

 

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t known the man. And it didn’t matter that he’d involved with the silly test that’d destroyed her couch. He was a man who’d tried to live by a code of honor, a man who’d died because his murderer didn’t share that same honor. Because the lure of The Game, the pull of power in its purest form, was too much for yet another Immortal to resist…

 

“I am sorry,” she told her niece a long moment later. “That must have been hard.”

 

“It was,” Nyssa acknowledged with a nod, then added firmly, “But he will see justice yet.”

 

Felicity nodded back, “He will,” she agreed, not quite able to hide her sadness at the continual loss of life. “But we will need to know more about this Al-Tamsah. His real name, and who he was—but that’s just a start. What we don’t know can only be used against us. Or at least not for us.”

 

“I will find all I can, ‘Ama,” Nyssa promised seriously. “Starting with his real name as you say.”

 

But Felicity shook her head then. “You won’t need to look far,” she told her with a gentle smile, tilting her head in the direction of the neighboring house that she was sure the assassins were staying in. It’d been setup as a safe house for them here—and for her, after all. “Navid will know. We can ask him in the morning.”

 

Nyssa blinked, but then nodded. “As you say, ‘Ama,” she bowed again. “I apologize for my oversight in this as well.”

 

“None of us were born knowing everything, and none of us ever will. All any of us can do is try to learn a little more each day.” Felicity sighed tiredly. “But neither of us can afford to stay up all night drinking wine. We should head to bed.”

 

The young warrior didn’t quite frown this time, though she did glance towards Felicity’s front door like she expected it to open sometime soon before she looked back at her hostess. “Do you not expect your Beloved?”

 

Felicity laughed, “Conveniently for us, no.” She shook her head. “He’s here more nights than not now, but I suggested that he should still spend at least one night of the week with his mother and sister. I believe he should be watching a chick-flick with them right about now.”

 

“Wise and kind,” Nyssa said, nodding thoughtfully. “After thinking him dead for years they must miss him still.”

 

“Life only gives us so much time to spend, even for Immortals. Often we don’t get even half the time we’d like to spend with the ones we love.” Felicity told her. “Better to seize the moments we can, rather than regret the ones we don’t,” she finished with another tired sigh as she watched the other woman nod again. “But it’s late,” she pointed out again, finishing off the last sip in her wine glass before she headed towards the sink, picking up Navid’s empty glass along the way. She washed both, and then silently accepted her new guest’s as well when she was done: washing that one, too, and placing it on the drying rack with the others.

 

Though she’d have to remember to put them all away before she left in the morning if she didn’t want Oliver asking even more questions than he’d already had when it came to her niece—or cousin, as she was to be introduced. And wouldn’t that tickle Mazin’s oft-hidden sense of humor? Naming him her ‘uncle’ for this life was all but giving into how he’d always called her ‘little sister’ in describing their chosen familial tie, even though she was thousands of years older than him. But if Oliver did meet Mazin before she found a way to explain everything—or anything—the man who’d renamed himself Ra’s al Ghul looked too old to pass for her brother without a much more complicated back story then she’d had prepared…

 

Felicity paused in the act of turning away from her sink and dish rack as another realization struck. She’d already confessed to having two brothers, hadn’t she? Dammit…

 

“‘Ama?” Nyssa’s concerned query made her open her eyes again, though she’d only just let them drop close. “Is something wrong?”

 

The ancient sighed again, but then nodded. “Yes, actually,” she shook her head, but continued after another sigh. “I just remembered, I already told Oliver about your father.”

 

The Demon’s Daughter blinked at that, “You did?” she asked with no attempt to hide her surprise.

 

“I told him I have two brothers,” Felicity frowned, thinking back on it. “I don’t think I mentioned anything else…”

 

Her ever-increasing desire to be honest with him had led to her dropping an awful lot of hints and clues that he’d never make sense of without more of the puzzle that made up her life to work with. Namely, without revealing her Immortality. But that shouldn’t be too much of a problem…

 

She hoped.

 

“Why not tell him the truth then?” Nyssa asked her, and she made it so easy that the Immortal had to blink at her before she shook her head once again.

 

“It’s not that simple.”

 

Nyssa cocked her head to the side, “Is it ever?”

 

And coming from the daughter of ‘Ra’s al Ghul,’ that question couldn’t be more sarcastic, no matter how evenly she’d said it.

 

“No,” Felicity admitted with another sigh. Then, again, she shook her head. “We’ll stick with the story of you being my cousin. I have to explain, eventually, but not now.”

 

No, telling Oliver about The Game wasn’t something she wanted to do at all. It’d happen eventually, but it was the part of telling him the truth about her Immortality—about who and what she really was—that would be the hardest. He wouldn’t take the idea that there were people out there who wanted to kill her for just existing well. No one ever did.

 

But she couldn’t tell him now especially. If he knew there was a professional killer stalking the streets of Starling City specifically looking to take her head he’d try to protect her. And she wasn’t going to lose someone that way again. She couldn’t.

 

No matter how much more complicated it made her already insane life.

 

“I know you have hunted others before,” Nyssa spoke up then, meeting her gaze calmly as the ancient looked back at her. “Other Immortals.”

 

“I have,” Felicity didn’t deny it, because it was true.

 

And it changed the subject to something that was easier to talk about here and now. Though how the madness and murders of The Game could ever be called ‘easier’ than anything wasn’t a thought she was going to let settle.

 

“My father has always said that your choice in The Game is always for the greatest good,” Nyssa told her calmly, “And justice.”

 

“I’d like to think so,” the ancient admitted, then quickly added: “But I can’t always be that generous with myself.”

 

“Ra’s al Ghul is not a generous man.”

 

“He can be,” Felicity shrugged, “When he wants to be.”

 

The man’s daughter couldn’t seem to decide if she agreed with that or not, but after a moment she went on, “He would prefer if you’d entrusted such tasks to the League.”

 

Felicity's laugh was darker than normal, because it had to be during this discussion. "Yes. That always seems to be a common sentiment among my friends," she nodded to Nyssa. "And family."

 

The much younger woman hesitated a long moment, then finally asked. "I have never understood," she paused again, searching for the words while the ancient waited patiently. "My father says that one of the most important lessons you ever taught him was the difference between vengeance and justice."

 

“That’s a difference that can be hard to see. Very hard, sometimes,” Felicity nodded again. “Especially for warriors. Fighting requires immediacy and decisiveness especially. That can be trained, much more easily than balancing the weights of the mind and conscious can be…”

 

For thousands of years, after all, Felicitas had turned the dilemma over in her mind: over and over, again and again. Justice was something she’d understood back when she’s ruled Carthage, maybe especially when she was little more than a child.

 

Yes, it was necessity she’d had to learn—like everything else she’d had to master to be the queen that her people had both needed and deserved. That had been her driving goal back then: keeping the promise she’d made to her mother moments before Dido had thrown herself onto that pyre. It had been what a young girl had needed to focus on every morning, every day, and every night—until it became second nature to her, and then she wasn’t a little girl anymore.

 

Taking care of Carthage was her world. It was what she knew. And it was why she married the most powerful warlord her advisors could find. So she and Eligius had married. His people became hers, and hers became his. Just as she became his and he became hers.

 

There was nothing romantic about it. They’d never met before their wedding. For the first month of their marriage they could barely speak to each other with the aid of a translator. She _did_ learn his language and he learned hers, but they weren’t what mattered when they’d made their vows. Still, they had vowed to protect and honor each other, and that had meant something. Love came later. Like the children came later: thrust into their lives, to form their family, by the tragedy of their natural parents’ deaths. A blessing in disguise: for a time though, joy and duty had gone hand-in-hand.

 

Until tragedy struck again.

 

Much of mankind today liked to live in the dream where war wasn’t a natural part of life. That the escalation of violence in the fight for survival was something that happened unnaturally, when it actually came much more naturally than peace and understanding ever did. Peaceful coexistence was both possible and preferable, of course, but it didn’t happen without work. Hard work. Putting aside your differences and finding common—or at least middle—ground, was never easy, but it could and did need to happen.

 

Peace could be brought about by force for a time, and there were times where it was the only way it could happen—some people simply liked to fight too much to let the fight go, regardless of right or wrong and everyone being better off in a world at peace instead of war. Those people respected only strength, and needed to lose before they could admit defeat—and some of them wouldn’t admit it even then. She preferred to think that those individuals were in the minority, but she’d also known whole nations that’d been built around the principle that death was better than defeat. Ancient Sparta existed around the ideal entirely. Some Amazons thought that way—arguing the greatest good with them was often an exercise only in frustration. Some of the nations involved in the modern World Wars still thought that way, and there were still nations that promoted the conviction even more recently than that. Victory or death might sound like an ideal to reach for, but what was the point of fighting if it destroyed everything you were fighting for? There _were_ times when there was no choice, when you had to fight or die—and that could only be called self-defense. But there were also times when the chance for peace was overlooked simply because no one was even trying to look for it.

 

That sort of peace, though, would only definitely hold so long as the sword was held over the enemy’s neck. Fear could be a terrible power, most especially because it _did_ work. It wasn’t real peace though, because that threat might hold the defeated foe in check: but only while the sword was still held high overhead, casting its deadly shadow upon both the swordsman and his would-be victim.

 

Over time the weapons became more dangerous, and the battlefields all the more bloody for it. Bows and arrows. Crossbows. Explosives. Guns. Airplanes and more guns. Now it was nukes and so-called ‘nuclear deterrence’ with the promise of mutually assured destruction.

 

It was what the world had always been, though these days most liked to think otherwise. Back when she was a girl she’d known it. The illusion of safety had shattered for her when she’d had to watch her mother burn. Back then the world had known it, too.

 

It was why she’d married a warlord: someone dangerous and fearsome enough to keep her and Carthage safe. That he’d turned out to be a good man who could love her was luck for the most part. Even Eligius hadn’t been perfect, anymore than anyone else ever was. He’d made mistakes, and so had she.

 

One of those mistakes had led to barbarians pillaging and burning through Carthage until her husband and his army had returned to slaughter them. She’d died that night. And the next morning she’d woke among the ashes of the part of the palace that’d burned down. And from that moment on she was an Immortal.

 

It hadn’t changed much at first. Her survival was seen as a miracle. She’d felt guilty, of course: for surviving when many other good people hadn’t. But she was still a queen and her people had needed her.

 

Then madmen kept trying to kill her, only to meet Eligius’ sword. Her husband had been so determined to never fail her again. That he couldn’t guard her forever had been his greatest regret after they’d learned everything from Methos. It was largely why he’d spoken in Methos' favor when he’d come before her throne to confess his crimes as a Horseman.

 

It wasn’t why she’d shown him mercy. Not entirely.

 

She’d still be dreaming then. And if Methos had come to her and Carthage seeking to redeem himself, how could she condemn him? Even when he said he deserved to die? It wasn’t a worthy ending for a man who admitted his faults and wanted to be better. Especially when he’d been caught up in the brutal madness almost as much as Cassandra was—maybe even more so, since he was trapped in Kronos clutches for so long. It was the factor that Eligius had pointed out that’d weighted the most heavily against the guilty verdict.

 

The Four Horsemen, as both Methos and Cassandra had described them, were led by Kronos and his vicious thirst for blood and constant conquest. _He_ chose to be known as ‘Pestilence,’ after all, according to Methos: because sickness was a killer that wasn’t confined to any battlefield. Caspian was no less savage, twisted and cruel—claiming the name ‘Famine’ because his gluttony for dealing out death could never fully be fulfilled. Silas was simple but strong: a living sword for his masters to wield, but loyal to his friend—she hadn’t been that surprised to hear that Methos had had to fight him when Duncan MacLeod had faced off against Kronos. Her brother had grieved for the man the Horsemen had called War, but he’d still done what had to be done.

 

He almost always did. Except when it came to the Witch…

 

“‘Ama?” Nyssa’s gentle voice called her out of the spiral her thoughts had aimed around her past. “Are you alright?”

 

“Yes,” Felicity lied, because it was always a lie to when it came to the subject her thoughts had found their way to. The madwoman who’d taught her what vengeance was…

 

“Can you sense him?” Nyssa asked then, sounding almost suspicious as she glanced toward the nearest door like she thought the rogue assassin would soon come bursting through them. “Al-Tamah?”

 

It was a reminder Felicity had needed to get her thoughts almost back on track, but she immediately shook her head. “No. He’s nowhere near her. Not yet anyway,” she sighed, and gestured at the couch that still  didn’t quite fit in her living room. “But I still owe you an answer. Come sit.”

 

“It’s not—”

 

“It’s an important question. It deserves to be answered,” Felicity told her firmly, leading the way back into the living room and waiting till the Pre-Immortal had sat down next to her before she went on, “It’s not simple, and justice only makes complete sense in the abstract. So I’ll give you an example. The League has a list of enemies who are to be killed on sight if at all possible, don’t they?”

 

“Yes, ‘Ama,” Nyssa nodded, looking so earnest and attentive that for a moment Felicitas hoped Mazin had seen it.

 

That he’d not only trained but personally raised his daughter to help shape the fine young woman she’d come. For surely the man who’d to be a father sometime in the aftermath of his second wife’s death, and done such a fine job of it, couldn’t be all that easily twisted—even by the Dark Quickening…

 

“Al-Tamsah is now on it,” her niece added.

 

Felicity shook her head at that, because it wasn’t the point. “Some of the people on that list are much more dangerous than others, aren’t they?”

 

Nyssa nodded again. “Damien Darhk and the HIVE are the most dangerous of our enemies.”

 

“They’re an organization, and there’ll always be power in numbers. Organized numbers especially,” Felicity nodded again. Then she shook her head. “But there are some people that are much worse, and much more dangerous than others."

 

The Heir of the Demon frowned again as she admitted, “I can think of no one my father would like to see dead more than Damian Darhk.”

 

“Maybe not. But he wouldn’t be quick to let any ally of Darhk’s escape him either, would he?”

 

“No,” Nyssa acknowledged, “Every member of HIVE is an enemy of the League.”

 

“Yes.” Felicitas nodded, holding the younger woman’s eyes the whole time. “But Damien Darhk and all of his followers are not the League’s only enemies.”

 

Nyssa thought a moment more, and then she nodded again. “You mean Sahirat Sharira.”

 

Her longtime fluency in Arabic meant Felicity didn’t even have to think about the title to translate it, but it took her a moment to realize who the assassin meant—there was only one enemy, though, that Mazin would have his people call the ‘evil witch.’ And it was fitting, really, that this conversation kept leading back to that woman.

 

But Felicity still wouldn’t let herself use that example. She never did for this lesson—she wouldn’t give The Witch that power. Wouldn’t let herself believe that the world should be shaped by revenge because then she'd be no better than her enemy.

 

“Yes. Cassandra is much more dangerous than HIVE, in any number of ways. Not the least of which is that Damien Darhk’s descent into madness is just another one of her schemes…” Felicity sighed, shaking her head when she saw the surprised look in the assassin’s eyes. “And the League has access to the Circle’s reports on everything we’ve tied her to. It’s… extensive.”

 

“I never heard…” the Heir of the Demon started, but then trailed off and switched to, “But why…” only to trail off again, shaking her head as she seemed to think better of her question. "I understand."

 

"No you don't." Felicity met her uncertain look with a kind smile, "If you did, you wouldn't have another question to ask." She nodded. "Ask it."

 

Nyssa stared back at her for several long moments, then finally sighed. "Forgive me, 'Ama, I do not wish to pain you," she paused for a breath, and possibly to give her a second to prepare herself, but that was enough already for the ancient to guess what was coming. "The one called Sahirat Sharira—the Evil Witch." The younger woman met her eyes again. "She killed your first husband. She killed three of your children—nearly your entire family. And as you said, they were not the last to suffer and die by her whims..."

 

“No, they weren’t,” Felicity agreed when the other woman trailed off. “Few of the many deaths she’s responsible for were at her own hand though, The Witch learned long ago how dangerous a weapon influence can be, far more so than any poison," she shook her head. "As HIVE exemplifies."

 

Nyssa startled, “The Traitor, Damien Darhk, is the leader of HIVE,” she said, and it wasn’t quite a question. Though that was there in her eyes. This girl as clever.

 

"He is their general," Felicity nodded. "But The Witch is their queen. His queen." She studied the assassin a moment, then frowned. "You didn't know that."

 

Nyssa shook her head. "No. Why would my father..." she didn't finish the question, trailing off into thought a moment more instead. Then instead she asked, "But why then did you forbid her death? If she is the power behind our enemies—"

 

"A power," Felicity interjected, but she wasn't sure the young woman heard her as she continued on.

 

"—the League should hunt her down for her present crimes as well as the many others she has committed in the long past." Nyssa insisted, frowning at her. "Don't you want her dead?"

 

This time, Felicitas' laughter was about as dark as it ever got. "Of course I do," she shook her head, giving the girl a pained smile. "But the tribulations of we ancients are always much more complicated than that. Unfortunately."

 

“The world would be better without her in it,” the assassin insisted.

 

And if only it was that simple…

 

“It would,” the ancient agreed easily. “But that doesn’t make killing her as easy as you’d like.”

 

Nyssa’s brow knitted in clear confusion. “That does not make any sense, ‘Ama.”

 

“In some ways, it doesn’t,” Felicity admitted, then after another sigh she added, “But in too many others it makes all too much…”

 

She knew Methos was right in that regard. Cassandra’s Quickening had to be as dark as a moonless night—or darker: like the Void of outer space, maybe. And she was an ancient now, so that darkness had indisputable power behind it. Not to mention all of the woman’s selfish insanity and mad manipulations. If ever there was a Quickening destined to turn a good Immortal Dark it was the one that resided in The Witch’s head.

 

That particular power the Quickening had was something Felicitas hadn’t truly understood until she’d seen it happen herself, though it’d been a Light Quickening at play then. Darius hadn’t yet been three centuries old when he met the man that was the world’s oldest known Immortal at that time—by far, as the closest Emry’s could come to an estimate on when he was born before that was somewhere around twenty-three-thousand years earlier. Emrys had stood there, still as a statue as he accepted his fate: as he let Darius swing a gladius straight through his neck. And the warlord’s violent nature had been _no_ match for the peaceful holy man—the Darius from that day on had been Emry’s with a different face and none of his long history. A painful thing for all of his friends to look at, but not something to be ignored either…

 

Methos had seen it happen the other way more than once, and Felicitas had felt the struggle within herself when she had to accept the darkness that came with another Immortal’s Quickening, too. So far she’d held true to herself, and she’d like to think that taking The Witch’s head wouldn’t change her either. But she knew better…

 

The patient weight of Mazin’s daughter’s gaze, however, forced her to come back to the conversation instead of wandering within her own mind anymore. For patient though the girl had learned to be throughout her warrior’s upbringing, she was still waiting for answers.

 

Felicity sighed again, shaking her head again as she forced a smile back onto her face. “The Witch is more complicated for many different reasons, so I’ll give you another example. Borislav Utkin.”

 

Nyssa thought a moment, clearly trying to place the name, but then she had to shake her head. “I have never heard of him."

 

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Felicity nodded. “There are far too many immoral Immortals in the world for even the League to track them all. Your father focuses his forces on the especially dangerous unless otherwise requested." She shrugged, saying nothing of the fact that she was one of the very few that could make such a request of Ra's al Ghul. “He’ll kill lesser headhunters if they have the misfortune to meet him, but most aren't worth the time or the effort of tracking them down. Their own actions, after all, should eventually bring them to someone they cannot beat. And more than half the time they're killing off each other.”

 

“Father says that it is nearer to eighty percent,” Nyssa told her. “That is why most headhunters never make it to even several centuries in age, and that is why it is only those that have, or those that are much older, that the League hunts down."

 

Or at least they tried to, Felicitas knew but didn't say as she nodded. "Yes, that’s something we agreed on centuries ago. There’s exceptions though, and the main one is that anyone who draws too much attention has to be dealt with.”

 

“Of course,” Nyssa nodded like that was obvious.

 

“There’s a careful balance that the League has to maintain between culling the dangerous and unruly, and not being noticed by the Watchers.” Felicity suspected from the look on the assassins face that she’d never been taught to be wary of the organization the followed and documented Immortals. A mistake on Mazin’s part, but one she’d expected given his opinion on Watchers, but that was another lesson, so Felicity kept going.  “Utkin is a Russian headhunter. And he’s less than two centuries old. So he’s not worth your father’s time…” the ancient sighed. “But twelve years ago he killed a friend of mine.”

 

That, of course, made the Demon’s Heir immediately scowl. “Then he _is_ worth our time, ‘Ama,” she insisted fiercely. “Your friends are protected by the will of Ra’s al Ghul, no matter their age.”

 

Mazin had always insisted that, too, but Felicitas response for him had always been a warning about not making too many promises he couldn’t possibly keep. For his daughter she only smiled sadly. “So they are. But I’ve never asked your father for Utkin’s head,” Felicity told her firmly, “Because I want vengeance. Not justice.”

 

Nyssa's scowl was startled from her face by that, and she blinked at her. “What?”

 

“I’m sure he’s killed many others as well, but Utkin killed Iryna. My friend. And all those that died with her.” Felicity shook her head. “I could ask your father for his head. I've no doubt he'd give it to me, and gladly. But I want to kill him myself, if I can. So I wait for fate to bring him to me instead." She shook her head slowly again. "It's wrong. I know that. In my head. But in my heart..."

 

When she trailed off for a moment, Nyssa spoke up again. "Did he rape her?" she asked, before adding quickly. "For we would make his death a long one if it was deserved."

 

"No, he didn't. He just waited for her to come to him, and then he killed her. And the Watchers, when they were still watching him, never noted that sort of behavior. Just his particularly brutal dedication to the damn all-important Game."

 

Nyssa frowned again, "What do you mean?"

 

“Iryna wasn't the sort to endure. Let alone fight. When I met her, she was already a nun. A young one, but she'd taken her vows. Then she'd fallen on her abbey's old, small steps one late night, and she hit her head. They didn't find her body that night, so when she woke up with a bloody bump on her head, she couldn't have realized that she'd been dead. That that was her First Death." Felicity sighed, shaking her head. "It wasn't that hard to convince her of the truth when we met, not with the Buzz in her mind. In fact, I think she was by far the easiest of all my students in that regard. In every regard, really. Save one."

 

The violence of the Buzz alone had frightened sweet Iryna, and that was while she was on Holy Ground, where every Quickening was somehow slightly muted. Always. Felicitas had never found an exact answer on why, only theories. It was something to do with magic, power points, auras and empathetic equalization—but beyond that she didn’t know. The place holding power because of the sense of sentiment it invoked in many people…

 

How horrible it must’ve been for Iryna though. To face a truly evil man who wanted her head after he’d burnt her abbey to the ground and waited for her to escape the smoke and flames only to face his sword. She must have known as soon as she saw him that there was no escape. Iryna was a pacifist and a dreamer, but she wasn’t blind or a fool. She would’ve recognized the end when it came. A man that evil, that merciless, could never be convinced to reason—at least not by someone who he saw as weak, someone whose only value came from their murder at his hand. He wouldn’t have cared that she’d never been willing to even pick up a sword, let alone train at all with it or carry one…

 

"She wouldn't leave the abbey?" Nyssa guessed, caught between her indignation at the death of an innocent who should’ve been protected and the innate curiosity called up by the tragic story.

 

"Close," Felicity nodded. "That was part of it. The abbey was her home. But more than that, she'd sworn vows that she would remain there all her days." She shook her head. "It wasn't as much of a problem as that might be anywhere else: most religious orders around the world have long been silently accommodating of the Immortals among them. For the most part. And the other nuns were her sisters. Her family. So she would not leave them."

 

"If she stayed in the abbey, she should've been safe," Nyssa objected with a frown. "Abbeys are Holy Ground to their orders. Sanctuaries."

 

"They are," Felicity nodded. "Which is why Utkin had to make Iryna leave it. So he burnt it down." She nodded again as just enough surprised horror overtook the assassin’s face. "The stone walls wouldn't burn, but the wooden roofs, the tapestries, furniture, and many of the walls in between? They caught and burnt fast. And so did many of the people," Felicity sighed, “Along with half of Podril.”

 

“Podril…” Nyssa repeated slowly, then she nodded, “In Ukraine, yes? The Great Fire of 1811?" the Heir to the Demon said with a severe frown. "My father suspected an Immortal caused it, because an Honored One was slain outside of her sanctuary as a result, but he never found any proof...” her frown deepened. “You didn't tell him."

 

Felicity didn't deny it. “No. I didn’t.”

 

"A madman burnt a city to the ground to kill your friend and you don't think justice would demand his death?" Nyssa frowned at her.

 

Felicity laughed darkly again. "Of course it does. But I'd rather have personal vengeance than impersonal justice." She nodded as the other woman finally understood. "That's the main difference, you see. Or, at least I think it is. Justice is both impartial and unselfish. Vengeance is neither: it’s the exact opposite."

 

Nyssa struggled with that for several moments before she finally demanded, "And how many innocents died for one man's madness and your friend's murder?" she didn't wait for a response, just hurried on in the same affronted tone. "He should be hunted down—and the League would follow him to the ends of the Earth if need be. How can you deny that that would be justice when a whole city could rightly demand it if they only knew they should? When the whole world should demand it of justice itself?"

 

"I don't," Felicity shrugged, then offered another small but softer smile. "And that’s why your father will undoubtedly send someone after Utkin, should he be spotted again. The Watchers lost him not long after that, and haven't found him since," she explained with another shrug. "Not yet. Though it’s possible that another headhunter already took his head long ago."

 

Nyssa blinked at her bewilderedly. "What?"

 

“Headhunters fight other headhunters frequently,” Felicity reminded her. “As your father said, it’s something like eighty percent of their encounters with other Immortals, isn’t it? Sadly it’s a statistic that’s all too easy to believe. No matter how hard we try to stop The Game, it continues to spread as all too many can’t resist the call of power and conflict…”

 

“So you… You _don’t_ really want to hunt him down yourself?” Nyssa asked her then, her frown now one of confusion once more.

 

“I don’t believe in The Game,” Felicity told her. “More than that, I hate the fact that it even exists, so I won’t play along with it anymore than I absolutely have to.” She shook her head. “That means that I will face those I have to, but there are only a small few whom I would personally hunt down myself.”

 

“Sahirat Sharira,” Nyssa guessed.

 

“Yes. And Damien Darhk, as he is likely her strongest ally at the moment,” Felicity paused a moment, but then went on with a sigh. “And there’s another ancient Immortal out there somewhere that everyone in the Circle would behead if we could.”

 

“Who?” the assassin immediately asked.

 

“That’s the problem,” Felicity chuckled wearily. “We don’t know who he is.”

 

Nyssa blinked. “What?”

 

The ancient Immortal hesitated then, because this was something that members of the Circle didn’t typically didn’t discuss outside of their highly exclusive ranks. But it was something Mazin already knew—she’d made the decision to tell him a long time ago, despite objections from a few of the other ancients in the Council. Methos most especially.

 

She’d told Mazin anyway though, because it was something the League of Assassins could help with—and the League of Shadows on its own hadn’t had any real success. So it was something Nyssa al Ghul could find out if she really tried, whether she was only a young Pre-Immortal or not. And if the League of Assassins was truly going to function as an extension of the League of Shadows, and maybe manage to someday bring real order to Immortals the world over, some secrets had to be shared…

 

“The Circle has served many different functions, but we’ve always had one main goal. Ending The Game,” Felicitas shook her head. “We’ve tried many different things. Education of the young. Rumors across Immortals and mortals alike. Continual eradication of the fanatics. But somehow the killing, the madness, that has ever plagued our race can’t be stopped. Not entirely.”

 

“Some men want only power,” Nyssa pointed out. “And violence.”

 

“Some women, too,” Felicitas corrected gently, and then shook her head again. “We thought it might be something like that—hence the whole ‘eradication of headhunters’ attempts. And there were several, but they it didn’t work…”

 

“Perhaps the eradication wasn’t thorough enough?” the Demon’s Heir suggested, with just enough uncertainty in her voice to keep the ancient from frowning at her.

 

“Oh, we were thorough,” Felicitas shook her head. “Why do you think we made up the idea of ‘The Gathering?’”

 

Nyssa blinked, but then nodded, “To encourage their natural impulse to seek each other out.”

 

“And let most of the headhunters’ who couldn’t see any other way wipe each other out, yes…” Felicitas sighed as she finished. “But there have been many Gatherings. Too many, I’d say,” she shook her head. “And yet The Game doesn’t stop. The killing doesn’t stop.”

 

Nyssa nodded slowly. “Perhaps it cannot be stopped, ‘Ama,” she suggested gently.

 

“No,” Felicitas immediately shot that down. “I won’t accept that. I can’t,” she sighed again. “Your father was very interested in this theory of mine when I first revealed it to him. I’m sure he’s still looking into it,” she shook her head again. “He doesn’t know how to let such things go. Anymore than I do, I suppose…”

 

“He has not mentioned it to me,” Nyssa admitted. “Yet there are many secrets of the League that I do not know,” she bowed her head as she finished. “If I may be of any assistance, ‘Ama, you have but to ask.”

 

“I know that,” Felicitas nodded again, “Thank you.”

 

Nyssa nodded, then she cocked her head to the side, “This individual working against the Circle, does it not seem likely Sahirat Sharira may be responsible?”

 

“No. The Game’s origins—and many signs of their manipulations—precede her birth by several thousand years,” Felicity shook her head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she worked for or with the responsible party, but she simply isn’t old enough to be entirely responsible in her own right.”

 

“I suppose that would be too simple,” the Pre-Immortal sighed.

 

“Simple is one thing life rarely chooses to be—especially for Immortals,” the ancient told her, before she shook her head again. “But we have more immediate matters to worry about at the moment.”

 

“The traitor,” Nyssa nodded slowly.

 

“Yes.”

 

Nyssa bowed her head again, “I am sorry for all of this, ‘Ama.”

 

“You can’t take all the blame for this, Nyssa,” Felicity told her firmly, holding up a hand to forestall any further protest. “I called you here in the first place. _That’s_ what started this. Your little stunt may have led to some gossip among your men in their downtime, but you were only here because I asked you to come. Just like the Huntress was only taken to Nanda Parbat to be trained against her will because I asked for it—that could just as easily have drawn his attention to me if he was already looking for one of the League’s ‘Honored Ancients.’”

 

“Perhaps not all the blame, but part of it is mine, ‘Ama,” Nyssa insisted stubbornly.

 

“Then learn what you can from it,” Felicity shrugged. “We all make mistakes, but there’s no point in getting caught up in dwelling on them. Fix what you can, learn from what you can’t, and move on. That’s all anyone can do.”

 

The advice was especially essential for Immortals, but it could help mortals and Pre-Immortals as well. And for someone like Nyssa al Ghul, who led a much more dangerous life than most, it likely wouldn’t be too long before her yet dormant Quickening would spark and add her to the ranks of Immortals. A worthwhile addition, from what Felicitas had seen thus far. That Nyssa was still a Pre-Immortal at her age, despite her dangerous profession, said volumes in favor of her skills—and about both her father’s protectiveness and all that he’d taught her. But her Quickening wasn’t awake yet, so there was little point in dwelling on what sort of Immortal she’d be now. Even if it did make Felicitas feel better about the student she called her brother, whom her own teacher—and other brother—had always been so very, very wary towards…

 

Seeing the self-reproach that still so stubbornly set on the young woman’s face, Felicitas offered her another small smile, “Nyssa, truly, this could have happened without you just as easily as it happened with you. Even if none of your guards had talked—or if none of them had heard you refer to me as your father’s teacher—the strangeness of the situation surrounding your visit to Starling City would have drawn at least some attention. My request regarding the Huntress, and the fact that it was granted, could have set me apart from other Immortals to him, and that alone might have been enough if he was waiting for a profitable opportunity to betray the League,” She shrugged. “We won’t ever know for sure, since the man himself isn’t going to say. Assumptions and what-ifs aren’t worth worrying about.”

 

It was only as she was staring into the girl’s dark gaze, willing that stubborn unhappiness to wane, that Felicitas realized in her complete focus she’d let her Quickening radiate a little more than usual—an almost physical force of will that could sway most to do her bidding even if it was only at its weakest level when it wasn’t intended. She immediately pulled it back, breaking eye-contact to stare at an empty spot on a nearby wall while she reined her power in again.

 

When she looked back at Nyssa a moment later, the stubborn unhappiness had again given way to concern. “‘Ama? Is something wrong?” she asked, glancing in the direction the ancient had been staring for a moment, before she looked back at her in question. “Is he—”

 

“No, no,” Felicity cut her off, shaking her head before the young warrior could do more than put her hand on the hilt of her sword. “No one’s here. Well Navid is, and whoever you have with him out there, but that’s it.”

 

It took a moment and another calm smile from the Immortal, but then Nyssa nodded and let go of her sword. “Would that I could sense the enemy, as well, ‘Ama. I would sleep easier.”

 

“It’s not a pleasant feeling, especially when woken from a deep sleep,” Felicitas told her, shaking her head. “But you don’t need to worry. Navid can sense him, as can I. And I’m sure Nick will be home sooner or later. Hopefully sooner,” she said with a frown towards the front of her house. “So we can get introductions out of the way.”

 

Nyssa frowned again at that, “Will your neighbor not assume that you are the Immortal he senses? I did not think he was old enough to have any special abilities?”

 

“Age has nothing to do with it. Well, almost nothing. Our powers do grow with age, but they grow stronger with training, too.”

 

Or by taking other Immortals’ heads, of course, but that wasn’t a fact that Felicitas had ever liked to acknowledge. While true, it wasn’t something she’d ever think any Immortal should aspire towards…

 

“Like the muscles in your body,” Nyssa nodded slowly. “They, too, grow stronger with exercise.”

 

“Yes, they do. And that’s a good comparison,” Felicity nodded again, thinking a moment how best to explain it before she continued. “Most Immortals never bother learning how to understand what it is telling them, let alone use it. But we can all sense when one of us is near.”

 

The assassin shook her head, “Yes, but surely Al-Owal’s proximity to you—”

 

“Might fool Nick if he didn’t know me,” Felicity shook her head. “But he does. He’s been my neighbor for months now.”

 

Nyssa blinked, “He can tell the difference between you and Al-Owal?”

 

Felicity chuckled, “There’s a pretty big difference, so yes, I’m sure he can.”

 

Nyssa shook her head again, “But you are thousands of years Al-Owal’s elder. Surely your power—”

 

“Power isn’t the only thing that makes our Quickening, or how other Immortals sense it,” the ancient cut her off, shaking her head again. “Many Immortals don’t bother learning how to do anything with it, but we all live with ouu Quickenings, so we all have some innate understanding of it. That’s what Nick has, at the very least.” Felicity paused, thinking again, before she went on with, “Personality plays a big part in what we sense from others, personality and emotions. Navid isn’t as old as I am, but to Nick he’ll feel like more of a threat, especially because Navid’s first response will be to see him as a potential threat.”

 

“Al-Owal will not attack if—”

 

“No, he won’t. But his first response, on an instinctual level will be even more intense than the normal ‘another Immortal means a potential threat’ warning—he’s waiting for another Immortal who is a threat, and Nick will sense that from him.”

 

Nyssa cocked her head to the side, “He will sense the same thing from you, will he not?”

 

“He would,” Felicity admitted, then shrugged. “But I don’t radiate most of my Quickening. If I did, most Immortals would be able to sense me from miles away—like the calm center of massive hurricane, your father once said. They might not be able to pinpoint exactly where I am from afar, though some are better trackers than others. And they would all certainly sense my presence, at least, if I allowed it.”

 

“You can keep other Immortals from finding you?” Nyssa asked, visibly excited by the news. “Then if we move you to a secure location, Al-Tamsah will not be able to find you!”

 

“That won’t work,” Felicity told her, feeling almost bad about it as she watched the young woman’s face fall even before she explained, “I can’t hide it completely, no one can. I’ve learned enough to tamp it down… no, that’s not really the right term. ‘Pull it in’ might be better—I can make it so instead of sensing me from halfway across Starling City, other Immortals have to be within a mile or so for me to sense them, and vice-versa. Though I’m tamping it down, too, I suppose,” she nodded as she considered it. “Otherwise most Immortals would be able to sense that I’m much more powerful than they might otherwise suspect,” she shrugged. “Few make the mistake of thinking I’m new now—it’s been a millennium since any headhunter has thought that, I think—but they also don’t guess that I’m five to ten times their age.”

 

“That makes sense,” Nyssa decided, shaking her head again. “Surely it is something others, like Al-Owal, should learn as well.”

 

“Your father had trouble mastering it beyond a point,” Felicity shrugged. “It’s not entirely in his nature—the desire to not be known the world over. He’s comfortable in the shadows, of course, but when he meets another Immortal he does not want to hide from them.”

 

“And you do?” the Demon’s Daughter asked curiously, clearly not able to quite picture this.

 

Felicity shrugged again. “I hate The Game, and I don’t want to kill people. That’s enough. Your father’s aversion to either isn’t as strong for a number of reasons.” She shook her head. “I’m sure he still meditates—that’s helpful. Control of one’s inner self is key to controlling the Quickening.”

 

“Father does meditate regularly. He always has.” Nyssa shook her head and admitted, “I have not always been so faithful.”

 

“It gets easier with practice, like most healthy habits,” Felicity reassured her, more relieved than she could admit to hear that the deadliest of her students still followed her teachings so carefully.

 

The more she thought about it, the more she worried about seeing him again—but that was Methos’ fault. While Mazin’s life choices had made him an Immortal to be wary of simply because he was a powerful and dangerous man, that didn’t mean he would try to take her head the next time they met. If not for the reality of the Dark Quickening it wasn’t something she would worry about. But she’d seen people changed by Quickenings great and small—though none quite as drastically as Darius after he’d taken Emry’s extremely powerful Light Quickening. And she had _felt_ the influence of other Immortals’ personalities trying to change her after she’d had to take their head, too. So it was impossible not to worry. No matter how much she’d prefer to simply trust him.

 

But that was something that should get easier with time. Mazin’s Quickening was already powerful because of his personality and lifestyle. When he reached at least a thousand years, twice the age of most headhunters, it would be easier to believe that taking the wrong head wouldn’t turn him into a madman bent on world domination, and he was at least he was halfway there…

 

“But it’s late,” Felicity made herself say then. “We should get to sleep,” she frowned towards the front of her house. “I wonder if leaving a note on Nick’s front door would be enough to keep him from trying to come to my rescue…” she shook her head as she trailed off, somehow not able to see it. “I should probably wait up for him though.”

 

“Could you not call him?” Nyssa asked curiously.

 

Making Felicity blink at her, “I suppose I could. I’ve never called him since he moved here, so that may scare him just as much as arriving to sense a stranger nearby, but it’s worth a try.” So saying, she reached for the nearby handset, and dialed the number from memory—an ability that seemed to be rapidly waning among current generations thanks to electronic memory making it unnecessary, but it was still something she found useful enough to hang onto.

 

_Ring… Ring…_

 

Nick answered after only the second ring, “ _Felicity? What’s wrong?_ ”

 

“What’s wrong?” the ancient blinked, a little bemused, even though she’d just admitted to expecting this response. “Really? I can only call you if something’s wrong?”

 

“ _…No,_ ” the S.C.P.D detective admitted, “ _But you don’t usually call me, so… why now?_ ”

 

Felicity decided to let that go, because there was actually a problem she didn’t particularly want to talk about. “Just thought I should give you a heads up,” she told him. “I have some company.”

 

Nick hesitated a moment again before he asked, “ _Amanda? You said she might be coming with your brother?_ ” his voice was careful—hiding any honest apprehensions he might have behind his self-control.

 

“No. I mean yes, she probably is,” Felicity sighed. “But they’re not here yet. I still don’t know when they’ll actually be getting here,” she shook her head.

 

It used to be a lot less of a bother: expecting the eventual arrival of company but not knowing exactly when they’d come. But that was back when it could take months or even years to cover the same distance that an airplane could fly over in less than a day. And this was a visit she wasn’t looking forward to anymore than her neighbor was.

 

Helping Amanda and Nick reconcile was something she’d wanted to get around to for a while, but introducing everyone here before she’d shared the secret of her Immortality with Oliver… it felt like she was asking it all to come out, and she didn’t know if she was ready for that. If _they_ were ready for that.

 

But sometimes being ready wasn’t an option. Sometimes things just had to happen, so you had to let it and hope for the best.

 

“ _So someone else then?_ ” Nick guessed, “ _Like us?_ ”

 

That was about as close as he’d get to specifically asking her if there were other Immortals around. Especially if he was work at the police department—or talking over an unsecured phone line, which were two bases that were both covered right now…

 

“Yes,” Felicity nodded. “My niece and an old friend are here. They may have some others, too.”

 

“ _You have a niece, too?_ ” was what Nick decided to ask. “ _How does that work?_ ”

 

“The usual way.”

 

“ _No, there’s no usual way for us,_ ” he objected, and he wasn’t muffling his voice at all so he probably was alone. Strange though that might sound, most would assume something like ‘orphans,’ not ‘Immortals’ if they heard it…

 

Felicity rolled her eyes. “Her father is my brother, so she _is_ my niece. See? Perfectly normal,” she was pretty sure she heard a soft snort from the young woman being discussed, but didn’t look her way.

 

“ _Is that what you do to try and seem normal?_ ” he asked her then. “ _Just keep adopting new family members?_ ”

 

Felicity paused to consider her answer for a moment, weighing where he was probably coming from on all of this, then she answered evenly, “It’s much better than the alternative, Nick. By far.”

 

It was why she and Methos had both always refused to give up on love. Because even loving and losing was better than not loving at all. It was always better to surround yourself with people you cared for rather than be alone. Down that lonely road lay only solitary sadness, and maybe eventual madness…

 

“ _Fair enough,_ ” Nick allowed, and then asked her, “ _So I should be bunking at the station for a few nights then? If I want to avoid some more headaches?_ ”

 

Felicity blinked because it wasn’t an option she’d even thought of, but it could only help, so she nodded. “That might be a good idea,” she agreed. “If you don’t mind?”

 

“ _Wouldn’t have offered if I did,_ ” he told her, and she could almost see him shrugging. “ _Fine. I’ll sleep in the barracks a few nights. Give me a call when it’s all clear, alright?_ ”

 

“That I can do,” Felicity agreed. “Thank you, Nick.”

 

“ _Yeah,_ ” the detective acknowledged, before he asked her, “ _Anything else I should have a heads up about?_ ”

 

The ancient hesitated again before she answered, and it was a long enough pause for him to sigh with realization.

 

“ _So there is something wrong. What is it?_ ” Nick demanded. “ _Something with The Game?_ ”

 

She was a little surprised he actually used the name, but then again ‘The Game’ _could_ be passed off as almost anything—even if someone could hear the capital letters when it was said.

 

“Something like that,” Felicity admitted. “I’m hoping it won’t take too long to sort out.”

 

“ _Anything I can do?_ ”

 

“You’re already doing it.”

 

“ _Hiding here at the station, right. Guess I can do that,_ ” Nick sighed again, and again she could almost see his frown as he told her, “ _You’ll call me if there’s anything I can do to actually help?_ ”

 

“If there is,” Felicity agreed, barely able to imagine it. But then, if the League ended up chasing their traitor through the streets she might have to call him. Though that was really something she’d prefer to avoid. “Thank you, Nick,” she said again.

 

And again he acknowledged with, “ _Yeah. Well, ‘night._ ”

 

“Good night,” Felicity replied, then hung up her phone and looked at the assassin that’d been patiently watching her through the whole phone call. “He’ll be staying away for a couple days.”

 

“He works with the police, correct?” Nyssa cocked her head to the side. “Hunting your beloved, I believe?”

 

“He does,” Felicity confirmed, shaking her head with a chuckle, “Though he only recently realized that he doesn’t actually want to catch him.”

 

“He did not know why you invited him to your city?”

 

Felicity sighed. “He didn’t, and he knew better than to ask. At first, anyway,” she shook her head. “He doesn’t mind ambiguous orders from the Circle, he spent enough time in the military that he can make himself accept ‘need to know.’ It’s when things get specific that he starts to get all frowny-face.”

 

Nyssa blinked at her, “‘Frowny-face?’” she asked, somehow repeating the two-word term without any actual inflection.

 

“It’s this thing that people do when they’re unhappy,” Felicity replied with just as even a tone.

 

“Frown?”

 

“Um-hum. Or pout,” she nodded, shrugging off the wise ancient demeanor with ease. It was a part she could play because she had both the experience and the brain to back it up, but it got tiring sometimes so it wasn’t a role she sought out. And if Nyssa was going to be staying here with her, she’d have to get used to Felicitas’ lighter side, including her sense of humor. Just like her father had. “He might’ve even scowled a few times the other night.”

 

Nyssa was frowning again as she shook her head. “But you are his superior. Surely—”

 

“The Circle doesn’t work that way, Nyssa,” Felicity interrupted before she could talk herself into something that was harder to answer. “It’s not like The League. Or any army.” She shook her head. “Mostly it’s made up of people that want to keep the world safe and make it a better place.”

 

“For Immortals.”

 

“For everybody, Immortals included.” Felicity nodded calmly. “Now, again, thank you for the warning. I do appreciate it.”

 

Nyssa winced again, “I am still sorry that it is necessary, ‘Ama.”

 

“Don’t waste too much time worrying about things you can’t change,” Felicity advised again as she stood, “For now, we should get some sleep. The guest room is this way,” she said as she led the way towards the room she always kept ready—just because it wasn’t unusual for company to drop in unannounced. Not by a long shot.

 

“‘Ama,” Nyssa tried another protest, even as she followed her across the room. “I really should—”

 

“You’re my guest, Nyssa. So you’ll be sleeping in the guest room, that’s what it’s there for,” Felicity told her again, opening the door to the specific room and giving it a quick once over before she waived the younger warrior in. “The bed’s already made up. The dresser has spare pajamas and extra blankets if you need them. Towels and washcloths on the vanity, the bathroom’s just down the hall.”

 

The assassin had turned around to face her again after barely a glance around the room when Felicity had flicked the light on via the switch by the door. “Thank you, ‘Ama. I am sure I’ll be quite comfortable.”

 

“Please let me know if you need anything,” Felicity told her, waiting for her nod before she asked, “Do you take coffee or tea in the morning?”

 

Nyssa blinked, but then answered. “Tea. I have some with me.”

 

“Is it the same brew your father likes? From jasmine blossoms?” Felicity asked her, and went on when she received another nod, as she’d expected. “He actually buys that from the same people I do: a family that’s lived where my Carthage used to stand for several generations now. I’ll brew it in the morning.”

 

The Pre-Immortal nodded again, and offered a little smile. “I will look forward to it,” she said sincerely.

 

Felicity nodded, and almost turned away, but one thing niggled at her conscious and made her look at the other woman again. “Oh, and Nyssa?” she met the young woman’s gaze as she looked back at her, waiting for a long moment before she told her, “My desire for Cassandra’s death? That _is_ vengeance.”

 

The assassin immediately scowled. “Then vengeance is justice.”

 

“Sometimes it seems like it, but it often only feels that way.”

 

“But—”

 

“As I said,” the ancient cut her off with all the authority of every position of power she'd ever held behind the words, and this time the girl didn't dare keep talking. “There are times, for all of us, that the difference is very, very difficult for any of us to see. For all of to see. But we have to, or we are no better than the barbarians who want the world to belong only to themselves, even if it has to burn to make that happen." She held the girl's gaze a long moment, before nodding. “Laila sa’eda wa ahlaam ladida, aibnat’akhi,” she bid as she turned towards her bedroom. [Good night and sweet dreams, my niece.]

 

The reply that followed her a moment later was heartfelt, but suitably distracted as Nyssa was thinking once more. "Tosbeheen ‘ala khair, 'Ama." [Good night, aunt.]

 

Felicitas turned back as she reached her bedroom door to offer her one last nod and a smile, before she shut the door.

 

It was a good night. Despite the troubles that might be coming, the future always held the potential for peril. And the enemy you knew—or at least knew a little about—was always a little less dangerous than any nameless, faceless foe that might strike from the shadows without warning…

 

Still, Felicity sighed as she finished undressing and started pulling her pajamas on. She didn’t doubt her ability to handle what was to come, of course—but it was yet more secrets she didn’t want to keep from Oliver. And Digg, too. Somehow they’d become the center of her world, her life here in Starling City, and while everything that came before that wasn’t something that’d ever be easy to share—the whole Immortality bit, especially—with The Game, and the League of Assassins coming to Starling City, it somehow seemed even more wrong that she hadn’t told at least Oliver the truth yet.

 

But where did she start?

 

Telling this truth had always been hard for her. Even before the complete catastrophe her last attempt at romance had been before this. Eligius and Alexandros had really been the only ones that weren’t difficult—and the commonality there was that she hadn’t actually had to tell them…

 

Eligius had learned everything _with_ her. He’d defended her from every headhunter that’d stupidly thought charging into the palace to kill the queen was a good idea. One hard swing of his sword had taken off the first madman’s head after he’d gotten back up following all other wounds, and that was how he’d figured out how to kill Immortals. The ones they’d been able to capture and interrogate after that, however, hadn’t been so helpful. Or at all helpful. So it wasn’t until that night when Methos had appeared in her chambers that they’d both learned the truth, because he’d explained everything to both of them.

 

Alexandros, on the other hand, had followed her to a duel. She’d never been quite sure exactly how she hadn’t noticed Hephaestion listening in the shadows when she’d had to reluctantly accept a challenge from a headhunter who’d found her when they’d still been in Egypt. Her time with the conqueror hadn’t been all that long after she’d left the Amazons, even though she’d chosen to play the part of the skilled healer to the Macedonians, so she should have noticed him. But then again, Alexandros’ dearest friend had been a highly skilled warrior in his own right: _and_ what’d amounted to the conqueror’s spymaster on top of that, so she shouldn’t have underestimated him either.

 

When he and Alexandros had arrived to interfere—to supposedly save her though, she had been more than a little surprised. But she’d been thankful, too, and for more than just the fact that the two warriors hadn’t come with guards or soldiers who could’ve been a real problem. It had made admitting the truth to the mighty conqueror something that could no longer be avoided—though it truly hadn’t been avoidable even before that. Both warriors _had_ , after all, recognized her as the same healer-woman that Aristotle had hosted when they’d been at his school: the woman who’d saved him when the healers his father had sent to the school had failed. She had tried to argue that Alexandros memories must be fogged from his near-death illness as a boy, but his boyhood friend _hadn’t_ been ill at the time. That might have had something to do with why he might’ve been keeping an eye on or her in what little spare time he had, but she’d never asked.

 

Felicitas shook her head and sighed again as she laid down on her bed, one hand automatically going up to the headboard to confirm that the sword hidden in it was there, and after a moment’s though flicking the latch that’d allow her to draw the blade at a moment’s notice if needed. It wouldn’t be—even if she weren’t on guard against this headhunter now, she’d sense him coming from more than a mile away—but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

 

What was past didn’t really matter. Not when it was the future—and more specifically Oliver and Digg’s reactions—that had her so worried.

 

She shouldn’t be.

 

She knew that Oliver wasn’t like Jose. He wasn’t anything like the Spaniard that’d broken her heart, tied her to a pyre and lit it as he called her an evil witch.

 

Oliver would never do anything remotely like that.

 

Felicity knew that.

 

So why was it so hard for her to just tell him?

 

…Because there was no ‘just’ telling him. Telling him about her being an Immortal meant explaining. And that meant explaining everything. How old she was, what she’d lived through, what she still had to live through…

 

Ancient History.

 

The Game.

 

Immortality.

 

_Everything…_

 

Where was she supposed to begin?

 

With what beginning?

 

She’d had to start over, again and again, so many, many times…

 

She’d had to leave, run, or even die, more times than she could ever let herself consider counting—because down that thought path lay only misery and despair.

 

Telling the truth—this truth, really _The_ Truth, for her—had always been hard. You’d think it’d get easier over the years—but after several millennia it was still so hard…

 

She wasn’t afraid of Oliver. He wouldn’t hurt her.

 

She wasn’t afraid of Diggle. He wouldn’t hurt her either.

 

Both men were great friends—but they were fighters and protectors, too. It wasn’t fair to subject them to her world—to all the trials and tribulations of The Game. But it wasn’t fair to be in their lives and pretend that something so dangerous didn’t have every opportunity to hurt them, too.

 

She’d often thought it might seem easier to do this if she understood more herself. If she could answer some of the questions that were always asked: questions she’d asked more than once herself, but never come close to the concrete answers she wanted…

 

Why were some people Immortal?

 

What was the point?

 

She’d always liked Rivka’s idea that they existed to remember what ordinary mankind would too soon forget. Whole civilizations, cultures and societies that would be nothing more than dusty ruins by now, if not for the Immortals that had experienced them and yet drew breath. Mortals tried to remember the mistakes that’d been made before, to keep history from repeating itself too many times over, but no matter how hard you studied it wasn’t possible to really remember something you hadn’t actually experienced for yourself…

 

It was an idea she liked, but she couldn’t always believe it. As a leader in the Circle, of course, it was an ideal she always had to aspire to. They wanted to make the world better, and to do that they had to first believe that they _could_ change the world. But there were times when she felt short.

 

Her greatest failing, of course, was The Witch. Felicitas knew that she shouldn’t let the madwoman have any power over her, and she hated to let her have any sort of victory at all. She couldn’t aim for the high road in that regard though. Couldn’t forgive the personal offenses Cassandra had planned and executed against her—not even enough to try for justice instead of vengeance.

 

Methos wanted the woman brought before The Council, to face a trial for her crimes just as he had. A trial with an undeniably obvious outcome, of course, but a trial with other Immortals hearing the facts and then judging her on them all the same. Even Methos didn’t deny that the end result would still be Cassandra’s beheading. He even planned for it—said they should have mortals do it, far away from any Immortal so as to protect them from her Dark Quickening. That could be justice, he’d said many times, if it could be done.

 

If.

 

But ignoring all the complications around whether or not it’d work…

 

Felicitas didn’t _want_ that. The visceral feeling she could still scraping and scratching her heart as she thought about it wanted more. Had always demanding it, from the moment she’d found her family dying because one crazy, spiteful, _evil_ woman couldn’t accept that anyone would side with Methos against her.

 

If Cassandra had gone after Methos himself after the trial he probably would have let her kill him. Then Carthage would have tried her for murder.

 

If The Witch had gone after Felicitas herself, she would have been stopped. The Queen of Carthage was probably better with a sword even then, and there wasn’t a single person in her city that wouldn’t have come to her defense if needed. Methos included.

 

But to murder Felicitas family—her _children_ —because she hadn’t gotten her way? To use a poison that _everyone knew_ caused an _agonizing_ , drawn out death unless someone showed you mercy…

 

They hadn’t deserved that. Any of them.

 

Eligius hadn’t deserved that horrible ending. And the children especially hadn’t deserved to die at all, let alone like _that_ …

 

Felicitas swallowed back the pain that the memories always brought back, then took a deep breath and let it out to re-center herself. The present was difficult enough without stirring up all of the most painful memories of her past.

 

But that was why she didn’t want justice. Why she _couldn’t_.

 

This pain was too real and too personal to ever try and let it go.

 

Killing The Witch might not help in that regard, she knew that her painful memories would still be painful. Always. But it’d still be something—something she couldn’t let go of, no matter who argued against it.

 

Methos had tried for thousands of years.

 

Some of the Council had considered siding with him on the high road, she knew they had. But she also knew that they hadn’t out of respect for her.

 

So it’d stayed the very sorest of subjects that she and Methos had to agree to disagree on. And it would stay that way as long as The Witch was still walking in the world.

 

Felicity took another deep breath and let it out again. Then she repeated it slowly. Again and again.

 

Obviously she’d have to meditate before she tried to sleep tonight. Otherwise she might not sleep at all, and if she did her dreams would not be a pleasant place.

 

She wished Oliver was here…

 

Felicity stopped breathing for a second as the though struck out of the silent chaos in her mind. Then she made herself keep going: breathing in and out and trying to let her mind rest for a few hours.

 

It did say a lot about the current state of her heart that she wanted him back here again when it was only the first time he’d gone back to the mansion for the night in several weeks. Yes, this night had brought a lot of unexpected stress for her, and the expectation of more to come, but the idea that she did believe deep down that  she could turn to him at times like this was a level of trust she hadn’t had in her heart since Spain. She’d thought Jose had broken that ability in her when he’d broken her heart.

 

And maybe he had.

 

Maybe Oliver had helped put it back together?

* * *

 

**_End of_ Rogue Warning.**

**_Next:_ **

Haunted by History.

_Because what's past can't be forgotten._

_Part 1: La Inquisición Española._

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* * *

 _ Translations _ _:_

_Al-Tamsah is “The Crocodile.”_

_Al-Hurba is “The Chameleon.”_

_Al-Karikudn is “The Rhinocerous.”_

_“Laila sa’eda wa ahlaam ladida.” means “Good night and sweet dreams,” because it sounded like something Felicitas might finish the conversation with._

_“Tobeheena ‘al khair.” = “Sleep well” (feminine)_

_All Arabic translations came from Google Translates, phonetics included now, which is really convenient…_

**Author's Note:**

> …You know how this was supposed to be an interlude? Well, somehow it made it up to 75 pages—just shy of twenty-three-thousand words. So that’s largely why it took so long.  
> And I have very little free time right now. Most of which I’ve spent playing Dragon Age: Inquisition. It’s addictive. But also somewhat thought provoking for my muses, so I’ve thought up a few future scenes, too. And the next story IS already in the works. So hopefully it won’t take too terribly long.  
> I don’t have another day off until April 18th though, so who knows how much time I’ll be able to spend on this…  
> Comments, thoughts, constructive criticism et al is always appreciated.  
> And I would like to add a word of support for all the people involved in the March For Our Lives trying to bring about common sense changes in America’s gun laws. I’m not sure they’ll be able to make the politicians do anything—I’m still reeling from seeing the gun lobby managing to trample over the kids killed at Sandy Hook, so I’m not sure I believe any of our politicians care enough about kids to value their lives over the money the gun lobby throws at them. Hopefully this movement keeps going and maybe even becomes a lobby of its own. But the money might not matter so much if they do carry enough voting power, so hopefully some changes will happen. And hopefully they’ll have more marches this summer when I can actually plan to join them. Then again if the teachers all go on strike it’s not like they’ll have anywhere else to be—possibly polluting their message, but hopefully not. I suppose I’m at least a little more hopefully now than I was the last time I posted about this sort of thing… though I really hope the Republicans don’t get another seat in the Supreme Court…  
> Sometimes I really miss the days when things like politics and the news didn’t mean much to me. But I suppose we can never go back to our childhood, can we? *sigh*  
> Well, if you made it this far, thanks for reading my ranting again.  
> And as always: thanks so much for reading!  
> More to come soon!  
> ~ Jess


End file.
